She Didn't Get Off the Plane
by Pyun
Summary: This story is set at the Finale, but Rachel did not get off the plane. How will this decision change the lives of the sextet? Chapter 17 is now up! Please read and review!
1. On Her Way

A/N: The only change from the storyline presented in the Friends sitcom is that, as you may have guessed from the title, Rachel didn't get off the plane.

And the obligatory disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters contained in this story. Friends and all characters contained therein are property of Bright/Kauffman/Crane. All copyrights and/or trademarks of Warner Brothers and/or NBC are assumed to be honored as well. The only thing herein belonging to me is the story.

**She Didn't Get Off the Plane**

She couldn't get off the plane. Not now.

She had let her heart make her decisions too many times in the past, especially when Ross was involved. This time would be different; it _had _to be different. This was her dream: Paris, top of the fashion industry, hell it was two dreams in one shot.

Rachel felt a small shudder as the plane starting dragging itself to a start. A wave of nausea rolled over her and she struggled to hold it together. She'd never been airsick before, but everything was hitting her at once. It was too late to turn around. There's nothing but the road ahead now.

Needing desperately to center herself, she forced her thoughts elsewhere. Away from Ross's startling confession at the boarding gate. Away from leaving her home and friends behind. Instead, she reflected on the years of work that had eventually led her here. She was almost able to laugh at the memory of her first job at Fortunata Fashions. She never really considered that a part of her fashion career and refused to put it on a resume but for now it was welcome occupant of an otherwise grief-stricken mind. She thought of her first day at Bloomingdale's.

And she thought of Mark.

At times she had wondered if she ever would have made it if it wasn't for Mark. Getting started in the industry was accompanied by a lot of doubt and at times Rachel had feared that she was never going to get out from behind that Bloomingdale's desk unless it was via pink slip. Even while she was first working at Ralph Lauren she worked her ass off to prove that she could have a future in fashion.

She had matured since then, however. She knew she was good at her job.

Hell, she was great at it.. Mark's generosity and help was saintly, but she now knew she would've made it this far with or without him.

For the first time since she left Monica's apartment a thin smile started to materialize on Rachel's face.

"I'm the reason I'm on this plane right now," she thought assuredly, "Not Mark." Rachel's smile suddenly disintegrated as a memory came piercing through her reverie like a jagged knife:

The breakup.

And after all, could she ever think of Mark without remembering the breakup? During her darkest hours part of her had always wanted to blame Mark for it, for things between her and Ross deteriorating so quickly, so violently. And indeed she'd wondered at times if she and Ross would still be together if Mark had never come into the picture.

But she knew how unfair that was. Mark couldn't be held accountable for Ross's jealousy or his affair. Rachel accepted that she played a part in their downfall too.

But that was years ago.

And it was no longer a question of whether or not she loved him or he loved her. In truth she thought that they had grown to a point where they could love each other even better than before. After all, they had done everything else a couple could do together.

They had sustained a wonderful friendship. They had a child. They'd even gotten married. Granted, it was a drunken mistake and a pain in the ass at the time, but something about the serendipitous nature of the incident demonstrated a quality that had become the defining characteristic of their relationship.

"I miss him so much already," she sighed to herself.

The pain wouldn't let go. She was still struggling to make sense of what she was doing. And while it should've been easier to be practical now that the plane was in the air, it seemed to make it just that much harder.

Thankfully, the element of choice had been removed from the situation, temporarily at least, and she was using that to sober herself again. She hoped she'd still have her senses about her when she landed. She told herself repeatedly that she could handle this on her own. Still a part of her wished for nothing more than to have her friends waiting for her when she landed.

She looked out the window: Nothing but the darkness of the night sky. Her plane was well in the air now and she could feel every inch of distance being wedged between her and the home and friends she had cherished for so long. She stifled a sob as the force of her emotions momentarily overcame her again. Knowing that she couldn't survive dwelling on her sorrow the entire flight, she again redirected her thoughts, this time towards her destination.

She was really excited to work for Louis Vatton. And in Paris no less! Sure, getting everything settled and getting used to a new neck of the woods would be a challenge, but think of all the places she could visit that she had only seen in pictures and dreams. Her heart beamed with excitement when she thought of all the fun things she and Emma would do together.

Emma.

Oh, how she felt so far away from her precious Emma already. It was only during times like these that she realized how powerful a thing motherhood could be.

She smiled at the thought of Emma sleeping safely at her grandmother's house. She wondered what her daughter had done today or what she was dreaming about now. Most of all she wondered if her little girl had any idea that her whole world was about to change.

Rachel closed her blue eyes and fell deeply into thought. She tried to remember what it was like to be a child. Those simple, beautiful days seemed so far away, so precious. The realization that she had taken so much for granted back then reminded her of the new life she was about to build from scratch. Still she fought to keep those youthful days in her mind; it helped her feel close to Emma and she desperately needed to feel close to someone she loved right now.

Rachel opened her eyes, feeling for the first time the weight of overwhelming exhaustion on her lids. Leaving a life behind and moving to another country was an extremely draining ordeal and, until now, her mind had been way too busy to notice how tired she really was. She seized this moment. Sleep was the perfect escape from her thoughts. She closed her eyes again, not to concentrate this time, but to get some much needed rest. She was fast asleep before she knew it.

Minutes, or maybe hours later, Rachel's eyes shot open in horror as a violent tremor surged through the aircraft.


	2. Breaking the News

A/N: The only change from the storyline presented in the Friends sitcom is that, as you may have guessed from the title, Rachel didn't get off the plane at the end of the finale.

The obligatory disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters contained in this story. Friends and all characters contained therein are property of Bright/Kauffman/Crane. All copyrights and/or trademarks of Warner Brothers and/or NBC are assumed to be honored as well. The only thing herein created by me is the story..

Ross sat alone on his couch with his chin resting on his hands. He put two fingers to his temple in a feeble attempt to massage the tension that had now become apparent by the furrowed brow that all-but-rested above his dark brown eyes. The eyes, semi-bloodshot and weary with exhaustion, seemed emptier than they had in a long time. As he presently rose from the couch, the weight on his shoulders was overwhelmingly perceptible. With strenuous footsteps he made his way to the sink, turned the faucet, and splashed cold water on his face.

_If anyone had endured their share of harsh tribulations in 10 years, it was Ross Geller_. And yet, a lot of it had been surprisingly easy for him to deal with. In his opinion this was because he was such a smart and practical man and that he was able to rationalize things so well. This ordeal, however, was different. There was nothing about this situation that was easy to deal with at all. There was nothing rational about the way Rachel had rejected him and, while he could justify his current emotional vulnerability, he didn't want to accept that it was getting the better of his practical side. So it was time to be Responsible Ross. _Things to do tomorrow. People are counting on me._ Ross let these thoughts take over, the ones that had been so natural to him for so long. He looked at the clock on his VCR. It was almost 2:30 in the morning. Next to the VCR, an infomercial about some miracle product danced on the TV screen. The volume was turned down, and Ross had almost forgotten that he had turned the TV on a few hours ago as a feigned distraction from everything that was going on. He couldn't even remember what channel was on, or what show he was watching when he stopped flipping through (which he figured, in his state of mind, couldn't have lasted very long).

With a sigh, Ross conceded to his fatigue and decided it was time to get some sleep. He turned off the television set and started towards his bedroom. Suddenly he stopped, as if some magnetic force had taken hold of him. He found himself paralyzed in front of his window. His jaw trembled slightly as he fought not to turn his head. The old apartment was so close. It was true that _she_ hadn't lived there in quite some time. Nevertheless, the association was never broken in Ross's mind. Many of his happiest memories of he and Rachel were set in that apartment. _Maybe..._

He sobered. _Get a hold of yourself! There's nothing to see out there and you know it! _Ross decided immediately not to even entertain the thought of looking out. He pushed himself onward without the smallest of glances. "C'mon, dummy, it's not like she's magically going to be there," he scolded himself. He lumbered into his bedroom, put on his pajamas and was fast asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Ross awoke in shock to the sound of someone banging on his door. He looked over at his alarm clock and saw that it was only 3:30 am. Stunned, he shook the sleep from his face as best he could and walked groggily to the door, wondering all the while who could possibly be waiting on the other side. He put his eye to the peephole then recoiled in shock at the identities of his visitors.

"Yeah I'm okay, why wouldn't I be?" Ross inquired. "Now come in and tell me why you're at my door so late."

Joey and Monica didn't answer. They looked at each other, agreed on something, and walked somberly into the apartment, stopping at the couch. Joey sat down and Monica gestured for Ross to do the same. Not having the slightest clue as to what chain of events had driven his friend and sister to his door, Ross complied. Normally he would have been far more irritated by their intrusion at such an hour, but tonight was different. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. He was awakening faster now and observed the countenance on his visitors' faces as they looked at each other, some non-verbal exchange taking place that he now desperately wanted to be a part of.

"Guys I don't know what's going on but please tell me," Ross entreated.

Joey looked pleadingly at Monica, a silent signal asking her to take the responsibility of telling her brother the news. She gave a nearly indiscernible nod to show her assent.

"Ross," she started, her words nearly a whisper, "there's no easy way to tell you this. Joey called me a couple hours ago and I turned on the news to confirm it for myself."

"What?" begged Ross, the accents of concern and confusion growing more apparent in his voice, "What happened?"

Monica took a deep breath and fixed her tear filled eyes on Ross's.

"Rachel's plane went down."


	3. On A Different Plane

A/N: The only change from the storyline presented in the Friends sitcom is that, as you may have guessed from the title, Rachel didn't get off the plane at the end of the finale.

The obligatory disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters contained in this story. Friends and all characters contained therein are property of Bright/Kauffman/Crane. All copyrights and/or trademarks of Warner Brothers and/or NBC are assumed to be honored as well. The only thing herein created by me is the story..

_Splash__...bloosh...crash..._

The drone of the sea reverberated in the background. Relentless. Eternal.

_Splash.__..crash...splisshhhh..._

She couldn't tell if she'd been listening to the sound for a minute, an hour, or a day. It was friendly music, yet she had no idea where it was coming from. It was calming in a way; it was the one unwavering force in a world where even consciousness came and went capriciously. Still, the soft, untamable roar of the water continued gently in the distance.

_...whoosh...crash......_

"_Was it all a dream?"_

She tried to open her eyes but could only muster a squint. Peering through her eyelids, she could make out a cerulean blur and nothing else. She tried to lift her head in order to survey the surrounding area but, much to her alarm, her muscles couldn't seem to find any strength. She tried to lift her arms, her legs: nothing. It was useless. Feeling frustrated and defeated, she gazed into the shadowy void above her pensively, not really knowing what to make of this strange and frightening situation. She wanted to cry, but even that seemed too daunting a task for her tattered body to undertake. So she squinted on, waiting for the curtain of haze to lift or else consume her altogether. Her eyes tired after a short while, the murky shades of blue too difficult to take in any longer. She closed her eyes and was alone again, save the unrelenting sounds of the ocean.


	4. New Strength

Chandler had never seen himself as a pillar of strength. Actually he'd often viewed himself as quite the opposite. Things were beginning to change lately, however. Perhaps it was taking on the responsibility of moving to a new house or tackling the first days of fatherhood. He also had a found a fine example to follow in his wife. Her strength had helped them get this far and he thanked Monica daily for that. Whichever it was, he'd found new sources of courage and stability inside of himself that he never knew existed. So when the horrible news arrived, Chandler took it upon himself to be the thread that would bind his friends and family together during the difficult days ahead.

He didn't go with Monica the night she told Ross. Someone had to stay home with the babies and he refused to put that burden on the woman he loved more than anything, especially when she had just lost her best friend. He also knew that Monica was better under pressure than he was and would probably handle delivering the news far better than he could have hoped to. He wasn't _that_ strong yet.

And heaven forbid he pulled a Chandler and inserted some totally inappropriate joke during the announcement.

He had been up for a couple of hours now; the twins had decided not to stay asleep any longer and he insisted that Monica stay in bed despite her objections. He knew she would throw herself headfirst into helping to plan the funeral and would need her energy. His only fear now was whether or not Rachel's parents could handle Monica's neurotic planning tendencies piling on top of everything else.

Monica sat up in bed, deciding that she could no longer feign sleep. There was too much to do and, as much as she loved Chandler, she couldn't let him handle the twins by himself for very long without getting nervous. She stopped by the mirror to straighten herself up but decided after a few moments that it was a lost cause and headed downstairs. She burst into a smile when she saw her husband with his hands full. He had one baby in each arm and was bobbing up and down in time to some cartoon theme song coming from the TV and attempting to sing along quietly.

"Need some help?" she asked sweetly.

He looked up bashfully, not realizing he'd been seen mid-routine. "C'mon I'm not that bad of a dancer." He continued his bobbing routine smiling flirtatiously at his wife.

"Okay, I'll leave that one alone," said Monica, "but I meant with the babies."

"Ohhh," laughed Chandler, "I...um...I knew that. Ok, yeah, take your pick." Monica gently took Jack from Chandler's arms and cradled him in hers. "Now don't let her corrupt you Jack! It's too late for your old man but you still have hope!" he said playfully, admiring his son's cute little face all the while.

Monica gave him a scornful look, but he knew she meant it well. He felt almost guilty enjoying this moment so much, but it was impossible not to. For the first time in his life, he was part of a great family. He gave Monica an adoring smile. It wouldn't be long before things got hectic. But for now it was their special time and he would be damned to have wasted a second of it.


	5. Confinement

Rachel Green had never spent a great deal of time thinking about death or the afterlife. Now that it all seemed to be bearing down on her, she couldn't think about anything else.

She had never really taken the time to decide if heaven existed.

"This certainly can _not_ be heaven," she surmised. The beach seemed like an ideal setting for heaven if there was such a thing, but being too incapacitated to enjoy it seemed to bear far more resemblance to heaven's fiery counterpart.

Suddenly, Rachel felt a startling reassurance that she was, in fact, alive. _Pain. _A piercing throb ripped through her forehead. It was dreadful and yet delightful at the same time. She had been numb to sensation up until this point. If the source of this pain wasn't going to kill her then maybe it meant she was coming out of the unremitting sedation that had been her captor for all too long now.

"...Unnhhh...," she groaned, surprised her voice had found her again. "....H-h-help...."

She hoped against hope that her cry would be answered, but it had been so faint that she barely even heard it. Still it was the strongest effort she had put forth since regaining consciousness and something about hearing her own voice made her a little less anxious. She was convinced she was still alive, but for how long? She was obviously in bad shape. Was anyone to come to her rescue or was she doomed to perish alone in this mysterious land?

Suddenly, as if intending to answer her question, a noise arose from the drone of the waves. _Thump...thump......Thump...thump..._

There was something unusual about the rhythm; indeed it was uneven, yet it was organized and continuous. The sound was growing louder every moment, its source presumably nearing as fast as its uneven means could bring it. _Footsteps!_ There was no doubt about it. Someone or some_thing_ was approaching. _But who?_ Rachel began to panic and tried to move but it was of no use. Her body was too weak. Whatever she had gone through had taken everything out of her. If the encroaching entity meant her any harm, she was a powerless victim. Through her narrowed vision, she saw a silhouette pierce the murky shadows. It looked like a human, but the features were too cloudy to be certain. An appendage thrust forward from the shrouded form and she could feel it drawing nearer to her helpless body.

"D-don't..." she whimpered, pleading for mercy, "he...h-help.....m-"

Before she could finish her plea, darkness descended on her mind, the last of her physical energy drained from her body, and she fell into the grasp of unconsciousness.


	6. Funeral for a Friend

AN: I'm not really sure where this is going at this point, but I'll keep writing until it gets there. Please review and thanks for reading!! (Iam open to constructive criticism by the way) 

**Ye Olde Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the Friends material, I just wrote this story.

It had been one week since Rachel's plane went down. Search teams had scanned the approximated radius of the crash for 6 days straight and had come up completely empty-handed. Authorities hadn't officially called off the hunt, but that was only a technicality in a situation where any realistic hope had already run out. Unofficial reports, while citing no apparent reason behind the craft's strange disappearance, surmised that the plane was now deep in Atlantic waters and would never be found.

Rachel's friends had been strongly opposed to having her funeral only a week after her vanishing; it seemed a betrayal to give up on her so quickly, but her parents were insistent that it was the proper way to handle the situation and the gang knew better than to question Dr. Green once he set his mind to something. With that in mind, they bottled up their protests and went to pay their respects to their dear lost friend.

The arrangements were every bit as lovely and dignified as the woman to whom they were dedicated. Dr. Green had been able to pull some strings and acquire the use of a luxurious estate in the southern Catskills to host the somber affair. There were numerous guests arriving, most of which were family and friends; the others were nameless faces that had meant something to Rachel during some point in her upbringing but had long since vacated any significant role save that of filling a seat.

The lobby, which led into the main hall where the service was being held, had been the meeting ground for everyday friends and people who hadn't seen each other in ages alike. Now, as the beginning of the service was approaching, it had nearly emptied save two men in black suits.

"Where's Ross?" asked Joey, his features hardening with concern, "The service starts in 15 minutes! Tell me he's not—"

"He was running a little late getting Emma ready, but he'll be here" interrupted Chandler.

"So you guys left him all by himself?" Joey countered, "How could you do that Chandler?"

Chandler sighed in defeat. "He didn't give us a choice, Joe. Mon and I insisted that we all go together but he wouldn't hear it. I can't believe how stubborn he's being about it all"

"You're one to talk man," mocked Joey forcing a tight grin, trying to mask a heavy sadness that his former roommate could sense all too well.

Chandler smiled sincerelyat his friend. The two men stood silently for a moment before Chandler pulledJoeyinto a hug. "You ready?" he asked.

"I don't think I'll ever be," replied Joey, taking a deep breath. "But I have to try. For Rachel." Joey turned towards the door and squared his shoulders.

"Let's do it."

As Joey entered the hall he stopped and scanned the audience aimlessly for a moment as Chandler walked to his seat. There was a very thick air in the room; that he couldn't deny, but what caught him off guard was the amount of smiles and laughter he observed as his eyes surveyed the assemblage. He smiled as he realized how much these positive things reminded him ofthe impact Rachel had on him. She always hadthis way of making him smile when he needed it most and a part of him felt like it was that very same magic that was at work before him presently.

Joey wiped a tear from his eye and found his seat next to Chandler, Mike, Phoebe, and Monica in the second row. Dr. Green had never gotten to know Rachel's friends terribly well, certainly not enough to care much for them but he knew how important they had been to his daughter and insisted that they sit close to the front. Monica was even asked to say something on Rachel's behalf during the service. Warm smiles were exchanged as Joey sat down. Phoebe handed a sleeping Jack to Chandler and the gang waited quietly for the service to begin. Minutes later a tall, dark-haired figure approached the vacant seat next to Monica.

"Ross!" exclaimed Monica, "we were worried about you!" The rest of the group exchanged greetings and handshakes as Ross sat down with Emma in his lap.

"Are you okay Ross?" asked a worried Joey.

"Yes. Yeah I am. Don't worry about me. I'm fine." Ross answered vacantly.

"Seriously, dude—"

"I'm _fine_ Joe, really."

The others exchanged looks of deep concern. Rachel had been everything to Ross. How could he act so indifferently at a time like this?

Ross brooded quietly in his seat. On the outside he was strong and well composed, determined not to let his emotions get the best of him. On the inside he was furious. How could everyone be so accepting that Rachel was dead after only a week had passed? How could they all say they love her and yetgive up on her? He silently vowed to find her. He wouldbringRachel home.


	7. Awakenings

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Friends stuff as specified in my first chapter. The lines below from The Last One are also under said ownership.

The fronds on the numerous palms were an unusually brilliant shade of emerald. During the day the trees became the defining characteristic of the island as they broke the sun's rays into a myriad of playful shadows that danced with each passing breeze that rolled off the sea. When night fell, they intensified the darkness and made one feel particularly isolated and alone, save the almost-haunting echoes the leaves created as night winds swept through them. Few insects roamed visibly in this untamed wilderness and not a single bird had come to pass; any body of land from which they could have departed was presumably too far away for their means to facilitate. The trees and various shrubs notwithstanding, this remote locale was all too devoid of life, save a woman who was presently seated in repose on the warm sandy shore.

Rachel sat on the beach in a trance-like state, gazing out towards the horizon. She had regained consciousness about 5 days ago now – she had judged it by the rising and setting of the sun. Since that time, spending her mornings by the shore had become her daily ritual. She couldn't decide if it was hope for a passing vessel drawing her there or if it was something about the soothing drone of the sea keeping her in touch with her sanity. In truth, the monotony of it was killing her inside. She wasn't desperate – that phase had come and gone. She was something more now and something less at the same time. Some moments she would feel hopelessly distressed, others strangely apathetic towards the whole situation, perhaps a feeble attempt to be more accepting of this most cruel fate that had been handed down to her.

She had nearly drifted off when a voice broke her silent reverie.

"Hey there," boomed a strong male voice. Rachel turned with a start, then instantly relaxed as she recognized the approaching figure.

"Hey Tim," she said, smiling faintly at the stocky blond-haired man who was now standing next to her. "I suppose it's not worth asking, but is there any news?"

Tim looked at the woman in front of him for a moment before answering. He still couldn't believe she'd survived the crash. When he'd found her she was hanging on to life by a bare thread but some indomitable force inside her refused to yield. He hated seeing her in pain when she came to, but those signs of physical agony had since given way to those of hopelessness and depression which was worse in a way. Dark circles had formed under her faded blue eyes, which were bloodshot from weariness. Her already slim figure had become noticeably thinner over the last few days. Her golden brown hair was disheveled and matted where blood from a serious head injury had soaked it. The poor woman was a mess. Still, she was beautiful, even during what Tim surmised to be her worst moment. He was intrigued by the thought of what she would look like on a good day.

"Not a thing Rachel, I'm sorry," announced Tim. His tone was very calm and genuine. He wanted to be strong for her; for his own pride as much as for her sake. He certainly didn't covet the chore of bearing these disappointing briefings to his captivating companion either. He was relieved to see his latest report hadn't brought a frown to Rachel's face as it had other days. "Do you mind if I sit with you for a bit?" he timidly asked, indicating a spot in the sand next to her with an outstretched hand.

"Pull up some sand Tim," she replied, patting her hand on the grainy golden surface next to her. He lowered himself gently onto the warm sand and sat "Indian-style" next to her. He looked down at his hands, his fingers now spiraling little patterns into the tan grainy canvas below him.

"How are you feeling?" he inquired. "How's that head of yours?" He didn't look over as he asked; he'd sensed she was a little self-conscious about its effect on her appearance and didn't want to act obtrusively about it.

"Well, it still hurts, but I'm getting used to it," she answered flatly. "I've finally gotten all my senses back about me I think. The headaches come and go and the only thing that still bothers me is that I can't remember the days surrounding the crash on either side. At this point I think I'm probably not going to." With her last sentence she shrugged dejectedly. In truth, something was really bothering her about the point at which her memories ran dry. She hadn't quite figured it out yet, but there was a discernable discomfort surrounding whatever _it_ was.

Tim swiveled around so that he was facing Rachel a little more directly. "What's the last thing you do remember?" he queried, hoping that maybe some outside probing would help bring back the hours forgotten.

"Well…," she started. She proceeded to tell Tim about the going away party, and saying individual goodbyes to her close friends. Smiles and tears waxed and waned during Rachel's narration as memories coaxed them each in turn. The smiles diminished as she approached the end of her recounting. "I had said individual goodbyes to each of my friends," she continued, "Except one. And that didn't go over well."

"Well I hate to play Devil's Advocate but I think I'd feel left out too," admitted Tim. He didn't want to take opposing sides against possibly the only person he'd ever see again, but he liked getting to know her better. Talking about something other than being stuck on the island was nice too.

"Oh honey," she said ruefully, "it's so much more complicated than that. This particular man and I have a past. He's…he's the father of my child." Tim looked shocked. "Yes, we have a daughter together. But, Tim, he's so much more than just that. We have so much history together; I guess I just thought it would be too much and I'm not sure if I'd have been able to leave if I talked to him." She stopped, seeing Tim's surprised expression, worrying that she'd revealed too much.

"Bet you're wishing you'd had that talk now, huh?" joked Tim with a big smile. They both laughed in spite of themselves for a moment.

"Thanks, I needed that," said Rachel sincerely. "I don't think I've smiled in days."

"I know," Tim revealed bashfully. "I'm really proud that I could finally coax one out of you." They both sat silently staring out at the sea for several moments. "Is that where you stop remembering?" Tim asked, finally breaking the silence.

"There's a little more. Ross and I -that's his name by the way- he came to my apartment after the party, hurt by the fact that I didn't say anything to him. We argued and he stormed out. I went over to his apartment a little later and I think we started arguing again- but that's where it gets cloudy." Rachel closed her eyes in thought. She remembered the two of them standing in his apartment. Nothing else would come. She opened her eyes again to see Tim staring at her. "What?" she asked innocently.

"This guy is really special, huh?" he asked, smiling half-disconsolately.

Rachel nodded her head somberly before speaking. "Yeah…" she said, "I guess he is. He thought I didn't say goodbye to him because he didn't mean as much to me as the others. The truth is, he meant more to m—"

The words trailed off as Rachel's jaw dropped slack. _It's because you mean more to me! So there! There's your goodbye! _

Those words.

She remembered them.

She remembered the humility in Ross's face as she yelled them at him, as she herself turned to leave his apartment.

_Rach!_

_What?_

_You keep—you can't—_

_What?!?!_

"Rachel what is it?" Tim asked, concerned by the look of absolute shock on her face.

"Huh?" she asked, not remembering at first where she was. "Oh," she said, seeing Tim's expectant demeanor. "Oh, it's, it's nothing," she said, feigning a smile. It was far from nothing. Ross had kissed her. She felt a sudden wave of intense desperation sweep over her. She had to get home again. That could not be their last kiss.


	8. Rude Awakenings

AN: Well, here's the next update, folks. Its taken me longer than I wish it had. This chapter is kind of depressing. Ok, it's freaking morose, but it's a necessary evil. I haven't made up my mind 100 percent if this story is going to have a happy ending or not so be forewarned but there will be some happy things in the future. I promise I'll get the others involved soon- there may even be a rather large role for Joey forthcoming but I'll leave you in suspense as to the details. Anyway, thank you for the reviews! Keep it up!

Disclaimer: I don't own them as detailed in my opening chapter

Ross plopped down on the orange couch in the middle of the Central Perk coffee shop and dropped his newspaper on the table, allowing it to flutter noisily as it fell into a slightly disheveled stack on the table's wooden surface. After a few pensive moments, he picked up part of the stack and began thumbing through the gray, inky pages mindlessly, not really looking for anything specific. A part of his mind, one that he was fighting to ignore, wondered if the miles of small black print before him would contain any news regarding _her. _He quickly dismissed this thought, deciding to focus on an article in the _Science_ section instead, and began reading. He was interrupted only moments later when a man with a receding head of bright blond hair set a cup of coffee down on the table in front of him with a quiet clink. Ross recognized the deliverer immediately, but the friendly gesture was rather unexpected and, moreover, it went against any previous interaction the two men had ever shared. Not really knowing what prompted this random act of kindness, Ross lifted his bloodshot eyes to meet Gunther's, probing for some sort of explanation, verbal or non – either one would do. Coming up empty, Ross decided to take the gesture at face value.

"Umm, thank you Gunther," he said weakly, feeling a bit defeated by the sense that Gunther knew something that he did not.

Gunther stood wordlessly for several moments, surveying the hollow shell of a man that was seated before him. For anyone who knew Ross at all, it was clear from even the smallest glance that he was no longer the man he had been up until a little over a week ago. His hair was disheveled and was getting a little shaggy. He was in need of a haircut but even the short time he normally spent with a comb every morning was more of an indulgence than he'd had the strength or desire to bear. To balance out the overgrowth on the top of half of his head, a thick shadow lurked over the entirety of his jaw line, darkening his already faded features and sharply accenting the apparent signs of stress and fatigue that had firmly taken up residence under his eyes and at the down-turned corners of his mouth. The most telltale sign of the severity of Ross's despair, however, was ironically not among the catalog of symptoms that the coffee shop owner could see; rather, it was what he didn't see that caught his attention the most. It was that pride, that god-damned stubborn pride that seemed to flow so easily through Ross's veins, pour out through his brown eyes, and coat everything they fell upon like sticky syrup. It was gone. And Ross, who had secretly been a fallen legend of sorts in Gunther's eyes having earned and lost and earned again the love of the woman he wanted most and could never have, was suddenly not so intimidating anymore. Suddenly aware that he had spent several silent moments sizing Ross up, Gunther apprehensively decided it was time to speak.

"I'm sorry to hear about Rachel," he said softly. "I know you and I have hardly been best friends but—"

Ross didn't know where this was going but he had a feeling he didn't want to. He decided it would be best to end the conversation before things got any more awkward, if that was possible.

"I…um, appreciate it Gunther," he interjected, cutting off the blond man, "Bu—"

Gunther raised a hand indicating that he was not finished and also asserting (in a rather uncharacteristic way) that he had every intention of completing whatever statement he'd started making. Ross slammed his hands indignantly into his lap. He didn't really care to hear anymore but hadn't the strength to fight it off. Gunther took this action as his cue to continue.

"I just want to ask you. If you go visit her…at her grave, or…wherever, please just t-tell her…" His speech ground to a halt, his composure noticeably slipping for a moment. Ross had been looking down the whole time he was talking, but Gunther could sense the growing impatience emanating from him and his window of opportunity closing. It had to be said. Now.

"Please just tell her….that I say hi."

And that was it. No more words or taciturn glances were exchanged between to the two men. Gunther turned around and the two men were instantly returned to their own separate realms again.

Ross sat eerily still, his countenance representing something just short of dumbstruck,as he felthis heart suddenly grow colder. The grey clouds in his eyes started to churn as the storm within him began to swell to agut wrenching tempest. Whether or not it was intended, Gunther's assault had rattled him, for even the coffee man was able to show some human sentiment towards Rachel and some dignity towards her supposed passing when he still had— no, _could_ not. It made him feel nauseous and inhuman. Worse yet, for the first time he didn't know whether he still believed that she was alive anymore and the thought of conceding her forever to death was far more than he was ready to accept.

Suddenly a thought occurred to him.

Emma.

She'd been staying with Jack and Judy while Ross worked today and she had been patiently waiting for her mommy to come home for a week now. In truth, he had passed her off a lot since the accident and the realization struck him with the force of a tanker: He was neglecting his own daughter, now, when she needed him most. What the hell kind of father was he? Was he this much of a coward that he would let the burden of his inability to cope fall on the shoulders of his daughter? _Their _daughter?

And what if he had to tell Emma that mommy _wasn't_ coming back? Would she be able to understand?

Could he even do it?

_No…._

His heart began exploding, threatening to jump right on to the coffee shop floor. Some unknown force had robbed him of his breath as well and he clawed at the collar of his dress shirt, loosening his tie, and ripping open the collar button.

Beads of sweat had started rolling down Ross's reddening face. He had to leave. Everything was starting to spin and his consciousness threatened to leave him as the world went dim around him intermittently. He shoved his hand in his pocket and with violently trembling hands threw some bills on the table and rushed towards the exit.

He was nearly to the cool evening air when a soft female voice called out to him.

"Ross?"

He whipped his head around, his feet still carrying him towards the exit, searching for the faint and familiar source.

"Ross, watch out!"

The warning came moments too late. There was a loud thud and the sound of cracking glass as Ross walked headfirst into the Central Perk door. Collapsing to the floor, Ross saw a small trickle of blood run between his eyes before a loud buzzing noise filled his ears and the world around him vanished into darkness.


	9. Finally Tomorrow

Author: Patrick

Story: She Didn't Get Off the Plane

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

AN: This chapter will be mostly fluff. Sorry the plot is lagging, but at least these chapters give me a chance to practice writing (and conveniently prolong having to make important plot decisions). I've never really written mush or M/C stuff before so let me know how you think it worked out. Thanks for all the reviews and keep reading!

**Chapter 9**

The drive home from the hospital was painfully silent. Monica gripped the wheel tightly, her subconscious mind auto-piloting the car while her conscious thoughts were coming at her faster than the little white and yellow lines paved on the rich, black expanse of asphalt that spread out before her. Occasionally she would check her periphery, making sure her brother was still fast asleep in the passenger seat, but otherwise her weary blue eyes remained locked straight ahead, almost as if she were endeavoring to search beyond the metaphorical horizon more so than the literal one.

When she dropped Ross off, she didn't escort him up to his apartment. She probably should have, but she didn't really have the heart to endure any interaction that might take place under the current circumstances. She also hoped that sending him up alone would encourage him to get some much needed sleep. She instead, hugged him goodbye, telling him to call if he needed anything, and pulled away once he was safely inside his lobby. Normally she would have shed a tear for her brother's sorrow. Tonight, she was all cried out.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Monica pulled the car into the driveway and clicked off the ignition and the headlights. She remained seated in the silent vehicle for a few moments, trying to organize her thoughts on the evening's affairs so she could neatly put them away in the confines of her subconscious.

She traversed the front sidewalk to her front door, nervously massaging the brass key between her fingers. She slid the key into the lock, feeling each jagged click as the multiple ridges slid right into their respective places.

_Right into place._ That sounded so unbelievably nice right now.

She took a final deep breath and turned the key, felt the subtle metallic vibration of the lock coming undone, and twisted the knob. Monica stopped dead in her tracks as the form of the swinging door gave way to a greatly unexpected scene.

The first thing she noticed was the luminescent glow of candlelight that filled the living room, covering the living room furniture and walls in a wash of incandescent light. The next was the soft melody of Ben Folds "The Luckiest" playing on the stereo, the familiarity of its tune had caused her heart to accelerate before she was even consciously aware of its presence.

The last and certainly not the least, was the figure standing in the middle of it all. The unmistakably endearing smile, the almost seductive glimmer of two beautiful pools of dancing with the yellows and oranges of firelight. And if there were any mistaking the man's identity up until now, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets bashfully as if to remove all doubt.

"Hey you," he said, melting Monica's heart a little with a gentleness of his tone.

"Chandler, you are so sweet!" Monica complimented, crossing the room to embrace her husband.

"_I know!"_ he said exaggeratedly, no doubt mocking his wife's trademark use of the expression. They both giggled as he pulled her into the warmness of his arms. He pressed his lips tightly against hers, making her feel slightly weak all over for a few moments.

After their passionate moment had ended, Chandler went and sat on the couch and extended a hand inviting her to join him. She quickly obliged. Chandler sat rubbing his palms together for a second, obviously wanting to say something but not sure where to begin. After a few moments the contrived gesticulation ceased and he opened his mouth to speak.

"You wanna hear something strange, Mon?" he asked, a coy smile appearing on his lips. Apparently his attempt to brainstorm a _normal_ conversation-starter was unsuccessful.

"If you heard it from Joey then probably not," she replied, giving him a sarcastic look He shot a look of his own back at her, telling her that he wanted to be serious. "Oh. Okay, but please tell me it's strange-good. I've had all the strange-bad I can take for one…lifetime."

"It's strange-good," he affirmed, reassuringly weaving his fingers with hers and turning himself on the couch so that he was looking more directly at her face. Without realizing it, and much to Monica's delight, Chandler's shift had put his face more directly in the bath of candlelight, and now each flicker of flame accented one of the thousands of shades of blue from the beautiful spectrum of his eyes, causing Monica to feel weak in the knees as she waited for him to say whatever it was that he wanted her to hear.

"Well, I was thinking today," he started, "I spent so much of my life being afraid of commitment." Monica cocked an inquisitive eyebrow, wondering where her _husband_ was going with this. Off this cue, he squeezed her hand a little tighter to tell her not to worry.

"I guess the cards were against me from day one, what with my parents being, well…freaking whackos and all." This earned him a slight chuckle and he shared the moment with his wife briefly before continuing. "The thing is," he paused momentarily, searching for the perfect words before going on. "The thing is that I was so incredibly terrified of marriage and I never thought I'd be able to be interested in it, let alone go through with it."

He looked deeply and lovingly into her eyes and said nothing for a moment, letting the words sink in, and also becoming aware of the weight of what he was about to say next.

"And then, on that fateful day in London, everything changed. And suddenly, this huge horrifying ordeal didn't seem so bad anymore."

With the arrival of these first definitively positive words, Monica's look of perplexed apprehension faded into a knowing smile.

"When the day finally came for us to say our vows, sure I was still a little scared, but when it came down to choosing between my fear and a future with you, it was no contest at the end of day."

He had unknowingly scooted closer to her during the last part of his speech and was now clutching her hand delicately against his chest. She faintly felt his heart beating rapidly through his light blue sweater, making her less self-conscious about the fact that her heart had been racing ever since she'd opened their front door. She also knew, while Chandler had a way of being the sweetest man in the entire world, that these little sentimental moments didn't always come easily to him, and something about that made it so much sweeter and made her feel so incredibly special when they happened. She bit her bottom lip as a girlish giggle escaped and her eyes started to glisten as the candlelight reflected off the fresh tears that had started to form.

"Now," he started as an audible tremble accented his speech, gradually permeated his arms and finally began resonating through his hands, a suspenseful indicator that he was reaching the climax of his speech. Monica squeezed his hand softly with hers, encouraging him to continue.

"Not a day goes by that I don't want to marry you all over again."

Monica felt her breath catch in her throat as the tears that had welled up in her eyes started to fall freely at his revelation.

"Oh, Chandler!" she squealed blissfully, throwing her arms around him and nestling her head into his chest feeling at once a sense of belonging that she could only find his arms. She rested there for a second, listening to his heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, and dampening his sweater with her tears. He kissed the top of her head gently as his hands traced circles around her back. After enjoying their embrace for a few moments, he gently pulled away, but in doing so slid his hands lightly down her arms until they came to a rest in the soft, delicate surface of her hands. He always wondered how a person who used their hands so extensively as part of their career could maintain such a delicate touch. Satisfied that they were still "in the moment," he opened his mouth once more to speak.

"I know times haven't been easy lately; miles from it, but I feel like if I can go from practically soiling myself when I heard wedding bells to feeling how I do now then I can take on _anything_. I thought I'd be terrified of fatherhood, but getting up every morning and seeing you reminds me that we're taking this journey together and that makes me _know_ I can do it. Your love has transformed me into a stronger, better man, Monica, and I…I just want to say 'thank you.'"

"Why are you thanking me?" asked a stunned Monica. If anything she felt like she should be thanking him. This was just what she needed right now and somehow he—

"For turning my biggest fear into the best day of my life."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Nothing had been said for several minutes. The couple just held each other tightly, neither one moving to make it something more. They were just content to be in this moment, not thinking for the first time in days about what they had lost, but reveling in the joy of everything that they still had. Somehow, on that most somber of evenings, they had rediscovered each other.

"Chandler, I love you so much," Monica whispered into his ear. After another quiet moment, she pulled away to look into his eyes again. "You know that stronger, better man that you were talking about before?" He nodded in acknowledgement.

"You have _always_ been that man."

The two held each other for what seemed like forever. After the songs had played, the dances danced, and the candles burned low and were extinguished, they went upstairs and made love, consecrating the new level of their relationship. When it was over, Monica laid next to him with an arm and a leg draped over his body and watched him as he drifted off to sleep. She was going to be okay.

_Everything_ was going to be okay.


	10. Discoveries

Author: Pyun

Title: She Didn't Get Off the Plane

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

Rating: R- I'm rating this chapter R mostly as a safety net. It contains some _very _disturbing images, but nothing I feel is terribly offensive or gratuitous. It's just very unsettling. I felt nauseous writing it, so please be forewarned.

**Chapter 10**

The past couple of days were a blur; a long, excruciating blur. Rachel spent a lot of time sleeping because, not having eaten in well over a week, she hadn't the energy to do anything else. In truth, she suspected that some of her naps were actually starvation-induced spells of unconsciousness. In some strange way these lapses were a welcome phenomenon, a distraction from the fact that she was gradually dying now, her fate sealed by the fact that no air or sea crafts had so much as grazed the horizon of this far-off locale. The idea of having to face this morbid horror without anyone she loved by her side made her incredibly lonely and sad. Sad seemed such an awfully generic term but Rachel found the genuine simplicity of it perfectly fitting. She had seen _sad_ movies, but they usually were either over-sentimentalized or outright maudlin. She had heard _sad_ songs but they could've more appropriately been described as forlorn ballads then minimized to the three-letter adjective that she was now using to describe her predicament. Never on film or on the radio had there been captured a state of such totally pure and unadulterated sadness.

For a while after they'd bonded on the beach, Rachel had started to take real comfort in having Tim around, but he had become increasingly distant over the last couple of days, probably losing his sanity to the same grave contemplations, Rachel thought. They had managed to get a fire going a couple of days ago and thanks to the huge mass of tree limbs, sticks, and dried chunks of shrubbery the island had yielded upon exploration, they'd been able to keep it burning constantly for several hours. The hope was that a passing vessel or aircraft would see the fire and investigate. So far that hope had gone completely unanswered. The pile of kindling was starting to diminish noticeably as well, a grim parallel to the castaways' dwindling time on Earth.

Rachel placed the last branch on the surface of the beach and took a step back to admire her handiwork. In a crooked wooden conglomeration were the letters "S.O.S." She worried about having wasted sticks that could have been used for fire wood, but also figured that there was plenty of unexplored terrain left on the island, areas that would no doubt turn up more timber if the need arose. To that end, and looking for something to occupy her frazzled mind, Rachel set out on her tired, wobbly legs into the remote emerald jungle.

**xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

At first, she had retraced the steps of she and Tim's original trek for firewood, but shortly realized that the area had been picked mostly clean of anything accessible already and decided to head for the uncharted terrain to the east. As Rachel's feet traversed the muddy surface of the forest, it occurred to her that Tim had been strangely opposed to taking this direction when they came here the first time. He hadn't offered an explanation, nor had she demanded one at the time, but now she was intrigued. It wasn't long before her curiosity got the best of her, causing her to forgot why she had come out here and only became concerned with uncovering whatever Tim had kept from her before.

The trees thickened to almost an impasse at some spots as she pushed further eastward. The terrain grew rougher, cluttered with detritus that chafed Rachel's bare feet with each step. The ground began to slope slightly uphill, an indicator that she was nearing the precipice of the island. Rachel stopped for a moment and leaned against a tree to rest. The journey would not have been unusually long or strenuous to the normal human being, but to one as starved and tired as she was, it was like a decathlon. Gazing up from her place of repose, she saw what appeared to be a clearing in the trees a few hundred yards away. She immediately wondered what was contained within it. Perhaps it was an orchard of wild grapes or berries. Perhaps it was a fresh water pond in which she could bathe herself. Perhaps it was both! Rachel pictured herself as if in a classic movie scene for a moment, bathing nude in the stream and eating fresh fruit straight off the vine. It was so clichéd, yet it sounded more wonderful right now than she had ever imagined it before. No longer being able to contain her interest, her tired legs churned again towards the clearing.

As she got closer, she started to notice a smell- check that- a stench. "So much for fresh fruit," she thought. Not deterred by the odor, she continued onward and as the number trees between her and the clearing diminished, she thought she saw a chunk of silver protruding from the ground, but it disappeared as the ground in front of her shot up again. The contour of the land turned downhill sharply as she got within 150 yards of the clearing and as she reached the top of the hill and looked down, the silver chunk reappeared again. From her current distance, it looked to be a twisted hunk of metal. She descended the hill for a closer look. Reaching the front of it, she began to strafe around its side, wondering what it was concealing behind its massive, ominous frame. As she finished circumventing the giant metallic obstacle, a waft of the previous stench assaulted her nostrils and she almost vomited, save the fact that there was nothing left in her stomach. And suddenly, she saw where the stench was coming from. Her heart descended into her toes as her eyes shot wide in horror and a frigid paralysis gripped her entire body.

The scene of accident. A terrible, terrible, accident.

The metallic hunk was a shred of a plane's tattered exterior.

And in its shadow…

Bodies.

_Dead_ bodies.

Rachel was too numb to count but she surmised that there were at least a dozen of them.

_No wonder Tim didn't want her to go this way! Why couldn't she have listened?_

It was too late. Her stomach clenched and she fell upon her hands and knees and dry-heaved. Then, her mortified body listed to one side and she fainted, becoming one with the motionless assembly of lifeless human bodies.

**xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

"Echo Six to base," the pilot of the Coast Guard Search & Rescue chopper barked into his radio, his eyes fixed on something beyond his windshield. He had seen this before, and while it was usually either bad news or no news at all, they had been searching for over a week now and this was as close as they'd come to turning up anything.

"Go ahead, Echo Six," affirmed a robotic-sounding voice that was clouded by static.

"This is Echo Six, reporting from 25 degrees west by 27 degrees north, just miles south of Ponta Delgada," the pilot confirmed.

"Ponta Delgada?" asked the static voice quizzically. "What in hell are you boys doing that far south?"

"It was a hunch," responded the pilot, looking back at his two passengers. "A very persistent hunch," he continued, redirecting his attention forward and grimacing a little.

"Echo Six, do you have anything to report?" the crackly, static voice resumed, this interaction sounding much more official than the last outburst had.

"Yes sir" announced the pilot, hungrily eyeing a faint grey plume of smoke on the horizon.

"We found something."


	11. Fresh Linen

Author: Patrick

Title: She Didn't Get Off the Plane

Disclaimer: I don't own them. "Your Eyes" from Rent – Lyrics by Jonathan Larson (If you are able to get a hold of it, listen to this song as you near the end of this chapter, I think it nicely articulates the emotions I'm trying to convey there. I'd send the MP3 to you but that is, of course, illegal.

AN: So the R rating of the last chapter was unnecessary, In my mind's eye, the crash site was a lot more gruesome than my words made it come across.

**Chapter 11**

Everything was a blur when Rachel's eyes crept open again. Sensing the pressure of a solid surface beneath her shoulder blades, elbows, and calves, she surmised that she was lying flat on her back, an eerie reminder of the state she had found herself in a little over a week ago. Immediately noticing that the blue and white canopy of open sky and clouds had been replaced by an opaque white blob, she planted her hands into the surface beneath her to push herself up into a sitting position, hoping that whatever force had rendered her unconscious had relented enough that her muscles would have the energy to get her upright once again. She was shocked when her palms were met with a soft surface that gave away a little as her weight pushed into it, very much unlike that of the sand and mud on the island that she had grown accustomed to. Her senses slowly coming to her, she inched her hands across the surface, palms exposed and fingers outstretched, using every nerve at her disposal to assess the nature of her resting place. Her hand leapt up in shock, detecting at once the crisp, sterile feel of fresh linen. With a shaky arm, she strenuously navigated her hand upwards to where her head was now tenuously resting, letting out a stifled gasp when her probing fingers clutched the stalks of soft down feathers through a smooth layer of cotton thread. A pillow!

_A bed?_

_Was it all a dream?_

Her hand, which had been basking in the two-fold comfort of the pillow, made its way laterally toward her face and, satisfied that teeth, nose, and eyes were intact, wandered upwards towards an area on the top of her head, remembering that it hosted a magnificently dreadful wound. She winced in pain as the skin grew increasingly tender then stopped mid-examination when her fingertips happened upon the frayed endings of a large bandage, which upon further inspection encompassed nearly the entire top of her head and some of the back. She flopped her hand down at her side and laid still for several moments, mouth slightly agape. The shock of discovering that she had been bandaged up coupled with the revelation that she seemed to be free from her tropical prison was so startling and intense that it left her at a loss for words or actions.

She tried to sit up but, as the case had been last time she found herself in this position, the needed muscles seemed to be totally useless. She tried to talk, hoping to draw the attention of whoever was responsible for her current arrangements, but her voice wouldn't come. Something about this sedation was distinctly different than the last had been. _Anesthesia perhaps?_ She looked down at her arms to see if she could detect an IV or any other evidence of medical intervention. She thought she saw a small tube sticking out of her left forearm but her vision was still far too blurred to make a clear call and she couldn't extend her right arm far enough to get tactile confirmation. All she could discern was that she was stuck, _again. _Defeated, she let her head gush back into the pillow, enjoying the softness for several moments before her mind began to drift off.

Questions came pouring into her battered mind. She thought about Tim and wondered if he was somewhere nearby. She desperately hoped that, if this was a rescue, then whoever had come to her aid had not left Tim behind. Fully aware of the debilitating weakness governing her facilities at the moment, however, and being totally unaware of where she was and who she was with, she was unable to investigate. In that moment, Rachel silently vowed to go back for him if he'd been left behind. After all, he'd saved her life.

Her stomach rolled a little as she remembered the gruesome crash scene that she'd had the misfortune to encounter and she squinted forcefully, as if she was trying to force out the grim imagery that was now showing on her internal screen. The sight of rotting flesh, the smell of decay, the nameless faces and appendages that had contorted from rigor mortis; these were images that would haunt her until the day she herself joined the ranks of the fallen.

She felt sorry for those souls that were entombed on the island and, for a fleeing moment, wondered why she had deserved deliverance from the horrible accident while they had not. The dark realization that she was not yet "out of the woods" herself put these thoughts quickly to rest, however. Still, there was ample sadness in the recognition that those who lost their lives in the tragedy had families of their own; parents, children, brothers, sisters – a link in a powerful chain destroyed forever. Although never having been a religious person, Rachel said a brief silent prayer for the dead and their families. And in the wake of her supplication, she thought of her own family.

Tears began to soak her eyelashes and trickle down her emaciated cheek as she wondered how Emma had been holding up during all this time. Ross was an excellent father and he loved his daughter as much as a parent could love a child, but she found a lingering doubt in the assumption that rejecting him coupled with her supposed death would have a sizeable impact on him. Maybe in a moment of weakness he told their daughter that mommy was dead.

"_She's not old enough to have to deal with death!" _she cried, her sobs only audible in the confines of her mind. She felt like such an abandoner and a terrible mother. It couldn't be helped. She knew that none of this accident was voluntary, but she could feel Emma in her heart, in that sacred and cherished way that only a mother can, and the difficulty of bearing the thought brought another fusillade of tears. This time they were tears of guilt.

_And speaking of guilt…_

_Ross…_

In her mind's eye she could still see the hope and longing that was in his eyes when he came to the airport. And then, the devastation that lined his beautiful brown orbs with sadness when their final parting words had been spoken. She had dreamt about those eyes almost every day while she was on the island, and while reliving such a moment was emotionally grueling, she found that it ironically kept her a little saner, so she didn't fight it.

_Your eyes_

_As we said our goodbyes_

_Can't get them out of my mind_

_And I find I can't hide_

_From your eyes_

_The ones that took me by surprise_

_The night you came into my life_

_Where there's moonlight I see your eyes_

That night she'd run from Barry's wedding and found herself in a coffee shop staring down a new life she never dreamed of, she noticed the way Ross looked at her. It was obvious he was attracted to her, just as she knew he had been when they attended Lincoln High together. His eyes emanated an aura of gentle possessiveness over her, as if he was fully aware of the ethereal way their souls would gravitate together in the years to come well before she'd even felt the first sparks. Granted, it was a little strange at first, but the incredible way she felt after their first kiss and after the first time he'd made love to her commanded her understanding.

_How'd I let you slip away_

_When I'm longing so to hold you?_

_Now I'd die for one more day_

'_Cause there's something I should've told you_

Loving each other was never easy. There was always a _something _in their relationship to complicate things, and that something manifested itself in a variety of different ways over the decade in which they'd been friends and lovers. And then friends. And then lovers. But even when they were friends they were never _just_ friends. The soft bitterness that stewed in Rachel's stomach every time Ross would introduce a new girlfriend juxtaposed with the harsher bitterness accenting Ross's verbiage every time Rachel met a new beau was all part of a sick game at which they'd become seasoned pros. The timing was never right either. Deep down there was rarely a serious question about whether or not they'd ultimately end up together – _once the timing was right_. But while the thrill of all the drama may have had a sadistic appeal to a couple of passionate twenty-six year-olds, it was all but completely jaded to two who were ten years the senior of those impulsive youngsters. Could she really put her stubbornness on the shelf long enough to go after what she knew was right – or as he so appropriately put it 7 years ago on one of the hardest nights of her life – she just couldn't see them "throwing away something we know is so damn good." And it was good. Hell, it _is _good.

…So damn good…

_There's something I should've told you_

_When I looked into your eyes_

_Why does distance make us wise?_

_You were the song all along_

_And before the song dies_

_I should tell you_

Rachel still didn't know where she was. But, heaven willing, she knew exactly where she was going. Feeling the linen sheets and the soft, feathery pillow one last time, she finally let her guard down and there, on that ambiguous mattress in a white blob, Rachel Green cried. She shed tears of regret for the days wasted being young and stupid. She cried tears for the people who had lost their lives on that God-forsaken island. She cried tears of motherly worry and fear for her precious Emma. She cried tears of anticipation of reuniting with the most precious group of friends a girl could have.

More than anything, though, she cried tears of joy. She was going to see those eyes again, the ones she never should have left.

_I should tell you, I should tell you_

_I have always loved you_

_You can see it in my eyes_

Rachel was going home.


	12. Finding The Way Back

Author: Patrick

Title: She Didn't Get Off the Plane

AN: Sorry it's taken me so long to update and that this chapter is kind of short. We're getting close to the end here and I'm still debating between the happy ending and the sad ending. Guess we'll have to wait and see….anyway thanks for the reviews and please keep them coming!

**Chapter 12**

Rachel wasn't sure how long she'd been out when she awoke. With labored movements she propped herself upright in bed, eliciting a familiar pain in her stomach that she had chalked up to a mixture of spasm and starvation. She gently rubbed the haze of sleep from her eyes with the sides of her knuckles. Pulling her hands away, she blinked a few times and then gasped, discovering that her visual acuity had returned. She took her first long look at her new surroundings. The first things she saw were her hands, of which the image was both relieving and disconcerting. They'd become hauntingly thin and emaciated and the normally well-manicured fingernails were frayed and cracked at their tips. The skin on them was slightly more tanned than she'd remembered, but that could be explained by the fact that she'd been stuck outside for over a week. It also had an unpleasant sheen to it, but she blamed that on the ever-so-flattering fluorescent light that was blasting down mercilessly from its fixture on the ceiling. Traversing slightly upwards from her hands, she saw the point of a needle in her left wrist connected to an IV bag of some clear liquid. Normal saline, she hoped, momentarily fearing the worst of the substance. The skin on her arms, which had grown dirty on the island from sweat and sand, looked surprisingly smooth and fresh as if it had been washed. She then noted that her tattered travel clothes had been replaced by a faded-looking white hospital gown that sagged loosely over her thin shoulders and scooped low at the neck, scarcely concealing her breasts. Looking downward, she saw a clean-looking white sheet draped over her legs, stopping around her waist where the crook of her seated form prohibited it from covering her any further.

Everything else around her seemed like a typical hospital room. The bed upon which she was resting and its adjustable metal frame resembled the standard-hospital-issue ones she'd seen friends and relatives occupy in the past. In the rear corner of the room to her left there was a white table with four built-in drawers. To her right there was an EKG machine, IV stands, and various other little notches and tubes located near and against the back wall that, in Rachel's estimation, served some dire function that she was thankful for not needing. There were two doors in the room. The first was made of solid faux wood and was slightly ajar, but the slit between the door and the jamb was filled with darkness, so Rachel could only guess that it was a bathroom. The other door was also faux wood but had a small rectangular window along the right side above a metal latch-style doorknob. On the other side of the window, the glow of fluorescent light illuminated a few more feet of drab white wall but, from her current viewpoint, Rachel could not see anything else. Curious to see what was outside, she considered getting up and investigating but decided against it, not knowing if her body was up for the challenge and not wanting to find out the hard way. It was then that she noticed the absence of a television, which she thought to be a common appliance in hospital rooms for patients expected to have any reasonable length of residence.

"_I guess I'll just have to sit here and wait,_" she reckoned impatiently.

Suddenly, as if in response to her thought, darkness filled the doorway window as the silhouette of a figure eclipsed the light from outside. A face materialized through the small pane of glass, causing Rachel's heart to leap when her eyes locked with the familiar deep brown ones that were looking in at her. She recognized them immediately. The knob turned for what seemed like an eternity and the latch clicked as it released, allowing the door to swing open and reveal the full visage of the man standing on the other side of it.

"You're awake!" exclaimed the visitor as he nearly ran into the room with excitement. He wrapped his arms around her and embraced her gently but fiercely at the same time. She returned the gesture, hugging him tightly and stroking his back as if to reassure herself that he was really there. After several moments, they both pulled back and exchanged grins. Rachel studied his face for a moment. Aside from the signs of happiness and relief, he didn't look well. His skin was a little pale and his eyes looked very tired as if he'd been under a tremendous amount of stress. She knew it had something to do with her, despite not wanting to feel self-absorbed. She quickly dismissed all thoughts on that matter, knowing they'd talk about it soon enough. For now, he was there and that was enough.

"J-Joey..." she managed to croak out before her emotions overwhelmed her and tears began to flow down her face.

"That's right," he replied soothingly. He pulled her back into his arms again. "Joey's here," he confirmed, kissing her tenderly on the forehead. She stayed in his arms for several more moments, crying openly and dampening his shirt.


	13. Friends with a Side of 'Sauce'

Author: Patrick

Title: She Didn't Get Off the Plane

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

AN: This chapter is the first to consist largely of dialogue. Hopefully it works.

**Chapter 13**

Joey held Rachel for several moments, allowing her to sob into his chest. In truth, he needed to embrace her almost as badly as she needed his embrace. It made him feel complete in a way he had not been since she had moved out. Perhaps it was just the big brother in him, but for some reason, being a girl's protector seemed to fit him so perfectly. Rachel was hardly the little sister he never had, but maybe more like the sister he'd always wanted. And while Joey's other friends had made him painfully aware of his intellectual shortcomings at times, Rachel did not, choosing instead to accept him in spite of himself, which made him love and value her even more. Joey thought about how people had sometimes made the mistake of comparing Rachel's simplicity to his own, but he knew that there were usually much more strategic intentions behind Rachel's ingenuousness than there was behind the comedic ignorance of his own. Her innocence really became her; it was that certain kind of sincere naiveté that could make a girl strangely irresistible. For Rachel, it worked in spades.

"I'm so happy to see you," she admitted, finally breaking free from Joey's bear hug. He nodded intensely in agreement.

"Yeah, same here Rach! We were afraid we lost ya, but here you are!"

"Yeah…here I am" she said, her mind wandering into thought. She had a million questions to ask him, but his last statement decided which one she'd ask first.

"So where _is _here anyway?" she inquired. She had no idea if she was in France or back in New York, or somewhere else altogether. She was excited to hear the answer, but was surprised to find that she wasn't hoping it would be one location more than any other.

"Well," he started, a tinge of apprehension in his voice, "this may not be what you're hoping to hear right now, but we're actually on this big military plane." Rachel instantly looked confused, but nodded her assent, signaling him to proceed.

"Okay, well I'll tell you the whole story," he began, prefacing his narration. "Your plane disappeared 10 days ago. They did the whole search and rescue routine but didn't find anything." Rachel immediately thought of Tim, but decided to hold off on asking about him until Joey was finished.

_Maybe he'll answer that one without me having to ask_, she thought, returning her full attention to his commentary.

"Your parents decided to have a funeral and everything. Something about it being the _proper_ way to handle things," he said, placing mock emphasis on the word proper. This revelation struck a chord deep in Rachel's heart and she almost began to cry again, but after a few deep breaths she urged Joey to carry on.

"Well, Chandler called our contact at the Coast Guard a few days ago and, as it turns out, they were getting ready to call off the search. Well, luckily for us, some wives of the men who worked down there are big DOOL fans," Joey revealed with a proud grin. "So I had to rally a few cast members and sign a lot of autographs, but they agreed to go on one more run and let Phoebe and I come along for it. I figured she'd be great to have along because of her psychic feelings, ya know? I had to say she was my wife to get them to go along with it, but it was worth it," Joey snickered, remembering his suggestion to Phoebe that they should consummate their 'marriage' to make the role more convincing. Rachel disdainfully rolled her eyes, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

"So anyway," he continued, "we were in this chopper, which was _totally_ awesome, by the way, and the pilot says something about Ponta Del-something-or-other, and Phoebe gets one of her 'feelings' and tells the pilot we should head that way. It took a bit of persuasion, but the pilot did it." Joey carefully omitted his suggestion to the pilot that they should stop at Taco Bell while they were there.

"So we flew there, and kept going for what seemed like forever, and just as we were about to give up, the pilot sees some smoke, so we followed the trail and we saw that it was coming from a little fire on an island."

Rachel chuckled at this, reflecting on the many frustrating hours she and Tim had spent rubbing branches together, trying to get a fire going. She'd wanted to give up many times but was now unbelievably grateful for Tim's persistence on the matter.

"Did you see my little message on the beach?" Rachel queried, showing a smile that glowed with a sense of accomplishment. Joey nodded like a giddy child, as if he'd been eagerly awaiting this part of the story.

"Yeah, it's like you knew I was coming!" he exclaimed. Rachel arched an eyebrow, perplexed by his reply. "I mean writing 'sauce'? That's genius!" he clarified.

Rachel placed her hand over her mouth as she struggled not to laugh at this unbelievable misunderstanding, deciding instead to roll with it. It probably wasn't worth trying to explain the whole 'S.O.S.' thing at that moment anyway. She was so thankful for being anywhere but on that dreadful island and for being with a good friend that nothing could bother her. Well, almost nothing. Just then Joey's face became very somber.

"Well, there was no place to land the chopper, so he just flew around the island slowly and we all looked out until…we…saw it," Joey said, emotions clearly assaulting him as his voice trailed off.

"Oh, honey," sighed Rachel, very aware of what he was referring to. The room was deathly silent for the next few moments, save the electric drone of the fluorescent light fixture and the soft hum of the plane's engine, which Rachel now noticed for the first time.

"You saw the crash site? The…the bodies?" she asked, empathetically fixing her cobalt eyes on his.

Joey drew back hesitantly, and then nodded, his face aimed downward at his lap, hiding the tears that were threatening to spring from his eyes at any moment. Rachel took his hand in hers and massaged the back of it with the flat of her thumb and wondered to herself, perhaps inappropriately, if she had ever seen Joey cry before. Satisfied that he'd regained composure, Joey lifted his head and allowed his now-glistening brown eyes to meet Rachel's once again. Their hands, however, remained locked in each other's.

"So they let out a rope ladder," he said, proceeding with the story, "and a couple guys went down, everyone expecting the worst. And then they walkie-talkied that two people were alive! Well I just _knew_ you had to be one of 'em. And, well obviously I was right!" Rachel put a hand to her chest as she let out a huge sigh, grateful to know that Tim had also made it out alive.

"Tim made it out?" she asked, hope lining her words. "Is he here?" she asked, wondering if he was in any better shape than she was. Joey shook his head.

"He lives in France so they put him on a different plane. But he asked me this to give to you," he revealed, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a folded piece of paper.

"Oh," she sighed, saddened by the fact that she hadn't gotten the chance to say goodbye to Tim. She hoped the contents of his note would include some sort of contact information. If so, she would visit him once she got back on her feet.

"I'll give you a minute to read that," Joey said, excusing himself. "And I better go tell Pheebs you're awake. She'd kill me if she knew how long we've been talking without her already!" Rachel nodded her understanding, as Joey disappeared through the doorway and the wooden door closed behind her. She returned her attention to the piece of paper in her hands, studying the crease with her fingertips for a moment before finally opening it.

_Rachel-_

_I sincerely hope that you wake up and read this shortly after I finish writing it. Being on that island was hell, and I'm not sure I would've been able to get through it alone. Thanks for keeping me sane and giving me something to look forward every day when I woke up on that sand. _

_They say you should take one good thing out of every bad situation aside from what you learn from it. All I know is I'm taking a parachute with me next time I fly! If you can think of something better, let me know._

_-Tim Cogbill_

_555, Bd Saint-Germain  
F – 75007 PARIS_

As she read the final words of Tim's note, Rachel exhaled and smiled. Just then, the door burst open and a tall, slender blonde woman ran in elatedly.

"Hi, Phoebe!" Rachel beamed, as her friend's arms quickly found their way around her.

"You _are_ awake!" Phoebe cried in cheerful disbelief, still holding Rachel tightly. Over Phoebe's shoulder, Rachel saw Joey appear in the doorway. She gave him a huge grin, to which he reacted with a coy smile of his own and a wink. After a few moments, Joey became satisfied that he'd given Phoebe a respectful moment to reunite with her friend and approached, taking a seat in a chair next to the bed.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to Rachel.

"Joey?" she asked, a tinge of anxiety appearing in her voice, "You said that Tim was on a plane to France." Joey nodded, his eyes in their corners, his mind searching for the point of her question. She didn't wait for him to figure it out. "If I'm not going to France, then where are you taking me?"

"Home," he stated plainly, without specifying further.

Rachel smiled. That was all she needed to hear.

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AN: The beginning of next chapter will kind of be a part two of this chapter. I'd wait until that part was finished and upload it all at once, but I have my reasons for not doing so. Thanks for reading and keep them reviews coming!


	14. First Steps

Author: Patrick

Title: She Didn't Get Off the Plane

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

AN: Still more dialogue. I find it funny when I look back over this fic and see how the writing style seems to change every few chapters. I hope it's not detracting from the story. I'm going to ask for the favor of overlooking any anomalies in the medical details of my story. I'm trying to make it as believable as possible yet make it compatible with my story. I don't know how most of those issues would _really_ play out anyway. Hope you all are enjoying this story, and I have appreciated all of your reviews, so keep them coming!

**Chapter 14**

"So how's Emma?" Rachel inquired. The question left an excited smile on her lips as she asked it. Phoebe and Joey looked at each other nervously, silently battling over whom should answer Rachel's inquiry.

"Guys, stop it you're scaring me!" pleaded Rachel, alarmed at the serious discomfort her companions exhibited in an all-too-apparently. Phoebe reached out and took her friend's hand in hers.

"Oh, it isn't bad news," Phoebe assured, "just…no news." Rachel made no effort in concealing her confusion and disappointment as she withdrew her hand from Phoebe's.

"What does _that_ mean?" Rachel asked, her hands gesticulating wildly in front of her.

"Well, she seemed good at the funeral," Phoebe explained. The word _funeral _caused Rachel to wince as if she'd been punched in the stomach. There was something about the idea of a child realizing that its mother had died that, to Rachel, had suddenly become devastatingly real. Phoebe, finally sensing the weight of her statement, decided to spill the full story.

"Okay, you're probably not going to like this, but, aside from hearing from Monica that she spent some time at Jack and Judy Geller's afterwards, the funeral was the only contact we've had with Emma since you left," said the zany blonde. "And that was almost a _week _ago."

Rachel stared at Phoebe in disbelief. A week might not have seemed like a long time to go without contact to an average group of friends their age, but for them it was an unprecedented anomaly. She looked at Joey, hoping that he would have something different to report, but he simply nodded, dolefully confirming that he knew nothing more on the subject than Phoebe did.

"I don't get it. I mean she's just at home with Ross, right?" Rachel queried.

_Bingo._

Rachel had hit the heart of the matter and she knew it at once by the accents of concern and uneasiness that assaulted her friends' faces at the mention of her old flame's name. The overhead light fixture's obtrusive hum dominated the conversation for a moment, filling the tense silence that had gripped the other three participants.

"Well that's the other thing," Joey quickly interjected, not wanting to keep Rachel in any more suspense than was necessary. "A couple days after your funeral Ross kinda…had an accident."

Rachel's eyes widened as she cupped her hand over her mouth, which was agape at Joey's news.

"Oh my God!" she cried, "Is he…?" She trailed off, fright disallowing her from forming the grave verbiage.

"Oh, no, nothing like that!" Joey quickly proclaimed, feeling guilty for not having anticipated her intense reaction. Rachel let out a huge sigh of relief and clutched her chest with one hand as if to confirm that her heart hadn't stopped beating.

Joey proceeded to share the account Monica had given him of Ross's collision with the Central Perk door and his consequent trip to the hospital. Under any other circumstances, Rachel would've found the whole thing humorous in a kind of way that screamed 'Classic Ross.' Moments like her first night at Laund-o-rama with him when he'd hit his head on the dryer door played on her inner screen for a few bittersweet moments before she realized how untimely her nostalgia was and swiftly returned her attention to the matter at hand.

"…So Monica dropped him off later that night after the doctors gave him the 'all-clear,'" Joey said, still reciting. "He picked Emma up from his parents' house the next day and that's the last time anyone's seen or talked to him."

"Well why doesn't someone just go to his place? I mean you guys have a key to his apartment, right?" Rachel asked crossly, clearly displeased with what she'd perceived to be a lack of effort on the part of a group of people who were supposed to _care_ for Ross.

And even if they didn't care enough to do it for his sake alone, they should've certainly done it for Emma's. Or, hell, even for Monica's, if that's what it took.

"Well, other than you, Monica's the only one who had a key, and apparently hers somehow got lost in transit. Very un-Monica-like, you know," Phoebe said, mocking her friend's compulsion for all things organized. "But she and Chandler are still looking for it, I'm sure she'll find it soon!" Phoebe cheerfully affirmed.

"You don't happen to have your key, do ya?" Joey asked, the blatant dumbness of his question evading him.

"Yes, I tape the key to Ross's apartment to my chest for all my international trips!" Rachel sardonically replied. Joey started to grin mischievously until he saw Rachel glowering at him.

"I can't believe this is happening," Rachel sighed, her voice heavy with defeat.

At that moment there was a knock at the door and the metal latch started to turn. All heads turned as the door opened. A man entered. He was middle-aged, with brown-gray thinning hair and crow's feet that made his eyes seem even older. He had an athletic build and a friendly smile that had a way of disarming those whom it fell upon.

"Look who's awake," he said proudly, smiling at the frail beauty who was occupying the bed in front of him. "I'm Dr. Harris, by the way," he stated, introducing himself. Rachel weakly returned his smile.

"Hi," she said faintly. The doctor's gaze fell on Phoebe and Joey, although they seemed to be oblivious to it.

"I'm going to examine your friend now," he said, addressing the two visitors, "so maybe a little privacy is in order if you would be so kind." They both looked at Rachel who nodded and smiled, reassuring them that she would be okay if they stepped out for a while.

"We'll call Chandler and see if we can find out anything," Joey decided, hugging his friend one last time. Phoebe hugged Rachel quickly as well before she and Joey exited the room.

The examination was relatively quick and painless, and Rachel even managed to surprise herself with her good behavior when Dr. Harris examined her eyes.

"Everything looks good," he announced, concluding the examination, "With a wound like that, you're lucky to have survived. You're one of the most resilient people I've met." Rachel was shocked at the doctor's compliment. A decade ago she was one of the most dependant people she knew. She knew she'd changed a lot since then, but never really realized how much so until now. And it was certainly more a matter of the way she handled things changing than it was a matter of actual things changing her life. The only two that fit the latter category were the company she kept and having a daughter, the second undeniably a result of the first, yet unequivocally more important.

"Doctor?" she asked, "Can I try getting out of this bed and walking a little bit?" The doctor was pensive for several moments, and then finally nodded.

"We can try it if you think you're ready," he said, acquiescing to her request. She smiled gratefully at him.

"I'm ready," she declared.

"_I've got too much to do to be off my feet"_

Rachel rolled the covers off of her legs as the MD cleared away his chair from her bedside. With a fluid motion, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and looked down at her legs anxiously, praying that they would have the strength to carry her. The doctor watched as she pressed her hands down into the mattress, bracing herself as she lowered her feet to the floor. With slow movements, she raised herself to a standing position. The doctor looked on with his hands slightly in front of him, prepared to catch her if the need arose. His eyebrows rose as a thought occurred to him.

"Hold on a second," he instructed, walking towards the corner of the room. He opened a tall cabinet and withdrew a portable IV stand. He walked over and switched the bag that was connected to the catheter in Rachel's arm from its immobilized hook by the bed to the portable stand.

"Now you can actually move more than a couple feet," he said, chuckling a little, "And, you can use the stand for a little support if need be."

Rachel wrapped her hand around the metal pole of the IV stand and took a step. And then another. The process was slow and bit more tiring than normal, but she and the doctor both agreed that it was a success. After a few minutes, she decided that it was enough for the time being and sat down on the bed. Dr. Harris returned the IV bag to its fixed hook on the wall, and returned the portable stand to its place in the cabinet.

"Do you feel up to trying to eat a little something?" asked the doctor. Rachel had almost forgotten how long it'd been since she had eaten. She was hungry, she had to admit, but her concern for her child had made her stomach a little unsettled. Still, it would likely help her regain some strength, and that thought made it more enticing.

"Okay, I'll try," she said, giving a slight nod. The doctor turned to leave but was halted by Rachel's voice.

"Doctor Harris?" she asked, beckoning him. He turned around, looked at her, and awaited whatever it was she wanted to say.

"What's going to happen to me when we land? Am I going to have to stay in the hospital?"

"You probably won't have to stay there long, but yes, you will have to go in for a CAT scan. You sustained a moderate concussion and we have to make sure that there was no brain trauma," replied the doctor. Rachel's face fell in disappointment at this news. She wanted to see so many people, but especially Emma and Ross.

"Don't worry," the medicine man said, noting her sadness at his response, "I've called ahead to set everything up. It should be quiet expedient."

"Great," she said, thanking him with a smile as he made his exit.

"_Because there's something I have to do, and it can't wait."_

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Clouds hung like giant balls of gray cotton over the New York skyline. It was chillier than normal for a spring day in the city. New-Yorkers and tourists alike donned sweatshirts and light jackets as they traversed the busy streets of the urban metropolis.

A few miles outside the city, a plane was coming to rest on a private runway. The plane was still for a few moments as uniformed men walked around it in circles, each performing some menial routine task and occasionally communicating with a faceless voice over handheld radios. From the right side of the aircraft, a group of men ushered a large gangplank into position by the frame of the cabin door.

The door opened with a popping sound revealing two men in uniform who spent several moments inspecting the gangplank to ensure that it was properly affixed before descending it themselves. A moment later another man emerged and descended the first stair and turned 180 degrees so he was facing the open doorway. He signaled with his hand. Another uniformed man exited pushing a wheelchair that held a weary-looking, yet attractive woman. A brown-haired man and a blonde woman, both dressed in casual attire, followed a few seconds behind, catching up as the group reached a car that was waiting several yards from the plane. Its engine was already running and its driver had already been given instructions. The woman in the wheelchair stood up and climbed into the back seat and was joined by her two casually dressed companions before the doors swung shut and the vehicle pulled away from the scene.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

A man stepped out of his apartment building in the Village. He was dressed in a handsome black suit, his hair was meticulously gelled, and his face was clean-shaven; the façade of perfect composure betrayed only by a sizeable gash over his left eye. In one hand was a car seat, the other cradled a little brown-haired girl, who was nestled cozily against his shoulder. He stood with his back against the wall of the lobby for a few moments until he spotted a particular sedan approaching. It pulled to a stop at the corner only yards away from him. He closed the remaining distance with his feet.

"Hi there," he said to the attractive blonde behind the wheel. "Thanks for coming. I owe you one."

"That's true," she smiled. "Get in so we can stop blocking traffic."

The man climbed into the back seat, buckled the car seat in and placed his child in it. After several moments of double-checking, the man was finally satisfied that the little girl was properly situated. He kissed her on the forehead, closed her door, and took his seat next to the driver.

"All set," he reported, giving a 'thumbs-up' to the driver, who nodded in acknowledgment.

The car rolled away from the curb and, after only a few moments, disappeared into the bustle of the New York City streets, its passengers totally unaware of the man that had been chasing after them.


	15. A New Home

Author: Patrick (Oops I had my last name on here before!! A habit from writing papers, I suppose! Don't stalk me!! Hehe!)

Title: She Didn't Get Off the Plane

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

**Chapter 15**

Rachel shifted anxiously in the back seat of the black town car that was driving her, Joey, and Phoebe to their respective homes. The CAT scan had been quick, just as Dr. Harris had promised, and more importantly the scan had turned up no abnormalities. The hospital had offered to admit her if she felt the need to stay but no one had mandated it, so as soon as the 'all clear' was given, the three friends piled into the back of the vehicle that the Coast Guard had generously provided to accommodate their return them to the city.

She'd ended up getting the seat behind the front passenger's. Joey was behind the driver's seat flanking Phoebe who was riding in the 'bitch' seat. Normally Rachel would have been the one stuffed in the middle, being the smallest of the three, but the other two had rightfully shown her compassion, offering her the roomiest position the back seat had to offer. She gazed absently out the window at the multitude of passing buildings, taking occasional notice when a familiar venue came into view beyond the pane of tinted glass. She smiled nervously as the car veered right and the territory became even more familiar.

"Almost home," she sighed to herself.

She thought about the word 'home;' feeling concerned over the intense distortion the colloquial term had undergone in her mind; a big move turned disaster changing its meaning forever. And in the wake of that disaster she had to face a new challenge; she had to figure out where she belonged.

At first, there had been the idea of getting a new apartment of her own. And while Rachel knew that it wasn't unreasonably difficult to find a livable space in a bustling city like New York, something about the idea reeked of 'starting over,' a cliché she had become painfully disillusioned with.

Joey had already offered up her old room if she desired it. She hadn't given him a straight answer, asking instead for some time to sort things out. In truth, with half of her friends already married and building their own households, the idea of putzing around with the Italian womanizer had begun to lose some of its appeal. It wasn't that she didn't like Joey; that matter was never given a moment of debate. Rachel loved him as much as one friend could love another; he'd always made her feel safe and loved and made her laugh on more occasions than she could think of. Nevertheless, in spite of all those good things, Rachel had begun to experience a rapidly awakening need to feel like she was going somewhere with her life and that she was doing something to fill the void that had materialized in the depths of her soul over the past year, and living in Apartment 19 just wasn't cutting it anymore. Honestly, she'd been staring down these facts for a while, even before she lost her job at Ralph Lauren and her world turned upside-down. She never dared to share her dilemma with Joey however, knowing too well how much it would upset him. By the time all of those feelings had come to a boil, she was packing her bags and leaving the country.

And then there was that last night with Ross. It wasn't even a full night, but it was enough to cause her to doubt every certainty she'd had about moving to Paris and enough to pry loose all the neat little straps that had tightly bound the boxes of emotion she had stored away for so long. She'd worked hard at pushing those feelings aside; they were so remarkably passionate in a way that could be so amazing and yet so incredibly dangerous. It could make one's heart beat faster or stop altogether. Such was the dichotomy that had defined their entire relationship.

So sometimes she wondered if, that by moving to Paris, she'd been running away from her true feelings the whole time. Now, she'd painfully realized something, a point that fate (in the form of a plane crash) had wickedly driven home:

It was impossible to escape those feelings.

She needed Ross and he needed her, not like a plant needs sunlight or an animal needs food. Such comparisons could often find a sense of belonging interspersed in romantic clichés, but they were not even on the tip of Ross and Rachel iceberg. They needed each other like life needs death, like heaven needs hell; they were two violently opposing forces that, when combined, formed a balance among the most perfect God ever devised.

It was settled. 'Home' was with Ross, there was no fighting it. It would never be the easiest choice, but it was the right one; it was where she belonged and he knew it too. If she'd ever had doubts about that, his plea with her at the airport to stay with him had removed them all.

Rachel was shaken from her mediation as the car slowed down to a fast crawl, the relentless grip of New York City traffic closing upon them. Engines groaned impatiently and horns blared. She closed her eyes and tuned out the din. The traffic would keep them waiting for many extra minutes if not longer. Filling the idle time with rest would leave her better prepared for the challenges she would have to face when the traffic relented and the car delivered her to Bedford and Grove. Her eyes were closed for no longer than sixty seconds when Rachel got a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. The car began to speed up, its pace nearing a trot. Before she knew it, the feeling had extended up her torso, causing her heart to accelerate nervously as it proceeded to her hands and cheeks. Her eyes crept open again, weary with fatigue, but very much alive with concern.

_Carsickness? After-affects of the anesthesia? _

_No. I've never felt anything like this before. Maybe I just need some air…._

She reached down and pushed a plastic rectangular button, causing her window to begin its descent with a mechanical hum. The bustle outside grew louder, the thin sheet of glass no longer an obstacle to its sound. She took her finger off the button, satisfied that the six inches or so it had descended was enough. The car began to fill with the thick smell of urban air and then, faintly, something else. Rachel leaned her head back against the cool leather upholstery and closed her eyes again, hoping that the action would bring some relief to her mysterious condition. It didn't.

Then it happened.

Two small searing bursts of heat engulfed Rachel's left cheek; a nearby pair of eyes was bearing down on her. Her eyes snapped open, spurred by the sound of a tiny familiar voice. She'd know that voice anywhere. In fact, it seemed to be calling out to her. Her head snapped to the left, eyes searching desperately for the source of that voice that she would recognize anywhere. Through the tinted glass pane she saw the tail end of a sedan disappear as it roared off in the opposite direction.

The engine beneath her own car abruptly began to churn and the car started to accelerate. She smashed her finger down on the window button, her breaths coming in short gasps as she impatiently watched the window complete its trip to the bottom. She stuck her head out the window and looked back. The sedan was rolling away quickly, soon to become one with the ambiguous mass of New York commuters. She couldn't see a child or a car seat, but the rise of the back seat blocked any viewpoint that could confirm this absence. In the front, she could see the back of two heads, the one on the right covered by dark hair. The increasing distance made it impossible to tell, but the figure easily could've been _him._

"Rachel, what is it?" Phoebe asked, having observed the bizarre actions of her friend.

Rachel fixed her eyes on her friend's before replying, her voice quivering with the accents of hushed anxiety.

"We have to turn around. _Now_."

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

"Mommy!" squealed Emma Geller-Green, her eyes and a tiny finger indicating the window across from her.

"That's right sweetie," her father replied, "We're going to talk to mommy."

Ross sighed deeply to himself. Emma could never understand that they would never _really_ talk to 'mommy' again. He didn't understand it either, but he knew that he could not go on mourning her forever. He couldn't turn his head back to offer a reassuring smile to his little girl; he didn't know why. What he also didn't know, was that the woman he was about to say his final goodbye to had just passed within feet of him.


	16. Reunions

Author: Patrick

Title: She Didn't Get off the Plane

AN: Hi folks. I'm sorry this has taken so long to get done. It's taken me a long time to even get close to the right frame of mind to finish this story. I'm still not all the way there yet, but I want to wrap this up. The ending isn't turning out to be nearly the quality I wanted it to be, so I apologize if it's a let-down. I've also realized that to end this properly, it's going to take a little more writing, so I'm going to break this into two chapters and there will probably be an epilogue of some sort.

To all who've reviewed: Your thoughts, comments, and criticism have meant a lot to me. Thank you.

Thank you all for reading.

**Chapter 16**

Silence suffused the automobile's cabin as Phoebe's and Joey's heads jerked in unison towards a slack-jawed, awe-stricken Rachel. A mere acquaintance would've dismissed Rachel's plea, choosing instead to accuse fatigue and confusion to be the cause of the sudden and unexplained outburst, but to the friends who knew her best it was obvious that something much more extraordinary was behind the action. Before either friend could get a word in, Rachel's hand was already upon the driver's shoulder, followed quickly by more pleas.

"Mr. Driver?" Rachel frantically entreated. The driver's eyes rolled momentarily from the road to the rearview mirror, signaling that he was listening but obviously not terribly interested. "We have to turn around," she repeated.

"No can do, ma'am," the driver responded detachedly. The apathy in his voice was nearly condescending but was met with grim understanding by the more cool-headed twosome seated to Rachel's right. The car and driver were military-appointed and no doubt under orders to deliver the passengers detour-free to one destination.

"You don't understand,' Rachel insisted, her emotions pushing her voice near the breaking point. "It's my daughter…I just need to…"

"I have _orders_, ma'am," the driver sternly interjected.

"I don't care about your stupid _orders_!" Rachel yelled, losing all sense of restraint. Tears of desperation began flowing rampantly down her cheeks. She looked to her friends, allowing the heartbreak of defeat in her eyes to beg them for some sort of deliverance. Her looks were returned by those of the deepest concern and confusion. Joey looked as if he was about to say something, but before any objections could be made, or explanations demanded, the car suddenly came to a halt.

"Bedford and Grove," confirmed the driver, "This is the end of the line."

"Look! It's Chandler and Monica!" exclaimed Phoebe, pointing to a couple standing by the wall of the familiar apartment building. Phoebe knew fully that they their presence was arranged but feigned surprise, hoping to distract Rachel long enough to get her out of the car and defuse the confrontation. There would be plenty of time to search for understanding later. Besides, Phoebe still hadn't dismissed the thought that maybe Rachel's tirade in the car was meaningless anyway.

The distraction worked well enough. Rachel lumbered out of the car, still very much in a daze, and approached her former roommate and her husband as fast as her tired legs could carry her. Monica noticed her first and handed her sleeping child to Chandler who received the handoff awkwardly, because he had already been holding the other one. She then dashed towards the approaching figure with Chandler following slowly in tow, stopping when only feet were between them.

"Hey you," Monica said, her voice so quiet that it threatened to vanish into the bustle of the city. She looked at Rachel long and hard, the realization that this was really happening had yet to set in entirely. The signs of exhaustion were apparent, but Rachel smiled in spite of them. Monica couldn't help but notice how tiny and fragile Rachel looked and gazed hesitantly at the bandage on her friend's head. Both women had tears brimming in their eyes.

"May I?" she asked faintly, holding her arms out.

"You better," Rachel squeaked as she flung herself into the waiting embrace.

The two reunited best friends hugged for what seemed like minutes as they wet each other's shaking shoulders with salty tears. Monica eventually pulled back, but held onto Rachel's arms with her hands. She looked over her shoulder at her husband and two friends who'd been observing this interaction and immediately noted that all three were wiping their eyes. She gave Rachel another quick squeeze and then turned to her husband.

"Your turn," she beamed, and held out her arms so that Chandler could free up his. Phoebe assisted by holding Jack while Monica took Erica into her arms. Chandler took a few steps and closed the short gap between him and Rachel. He stood before her for a long moment and said nothing, obviously having trouble deciding on how to handle the situation.

"Come here," indicated Rachel, saving him the trouble. She held her arms out and Chandler moved into them, encircling her with his own. The moment was surreal to him. He still didn't speak, but Rachel felt him tremble a few times, as if he was struggling not to cry. When they pulled apart, he was smiling at her, as if the hug was all the validation he'd been searching for only moments prior.

"I guess we should make this reunion complete," Joey suggested, motion towards Ross's building. "Did you talk to him yet, Chan?"

Chandler shoved his hands in his pocket and became suddenly dejected. He knew how much seeing Ross and Emma right now meant to Rachel and hated having to let her down.

"No," he conceded. Right as we pulled up I saw him getting into a woman's car." Rachel seemed mortified by his revelation for a second before her expression relaxed. "I think it was Carol," he continued, noting his friend's brief look of concern, "But, anyway, he had Emma with him and they drove off before I could catch up and flag him down." Rachel frowned. As wonderful as the moment was, it wasn't anywhere near complete without her 'family' to share it with.

"Do you know which way they went?" Rachel inquired, "Because on the way in, I got this really weird feeling and I could've sworn we passed right by them."

"Well they pulled off going that direction," Chandler informed, pointing a finger westward, "but this isn't exactly a one-way city."

"But that's not the way he goes to work," Rachel said, trying to rule out possibilities. "Where would he go that he'd need a car?"

The gang stood pensively for a moment, all considering different destinations. Phoebe suddenly smiled.

"Ooh Monica!" she exclaimed, "Why don't you try calling your parents?" Joey and Rachel smiled in approval of the suggestion while Monica passed Erica back to Chandler and then proceeded to dig through her purse for her cell phone. She withdrew it and dialed. After several tense minutes she lowered the phone dejectedly.

"No answer," she explained. Groans and sighs resonated throughout the group. "Back to the drawing board."

The quintet was silent again for a few moments before someone spoke up again. This time it was Chandler.

"Oh my God," he gasped. "I think I've got it."

Ross silently traversed the consecrated grounds of a small cemetery. Emma had gotten drowsy on the lengthy car ride from the city to this quaint mainland location and was sleeping soundly in her father's arms. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he walked but was not focusing on anything in particular. The cemetery was situated within a small grove of trees, the limbs of which were appropriately bare. If one gazed eastward through the tangled wooden framework of the branches, the haze-obscured New York City skyline was clearly visible in the distance. The scenery was rather breathtaking, albeit sad.

The weary professor stopped as he reached the crest of a hill, only half-aware of where he was and his reason for being there. He let his vision spill across the periphery, absorbing the peace of the serene landscape for all it was worth. It was beautiful— the headstones, the patchwork quilt of grass juxtaposed with freshly upturned dirt, the leafless trees— each entity existed in perfect communion with the others around it.

This fact was of little comfort to Ross. He reflected upon how hard it'd been to even think of saying goodbye to Rachel at the airport a little over a week ago— those feelings were nothing compared to what he was experiencing now— and he thought of how much different this kind of goodbye was. And he thought of how he'd said goodbye to Rachel in one way or another too many times in his life, but there was rarely even an illusion of finality in any of them. This was different; too different.

A cold gust blew across the grounds causing Ross to shiver. He pulled Emma tightly to him with both arms, trying to shield her from the unusually cruel Spring wind. He scanned the layout around him for a minute until he saw it. The terrain winded downward towards the southeast corner of the cemetery. There was a black metal fence, in front of which was a statuesque oak tree. If he remembered correctly, his destination was a few feet in front of that tree. He took a long, deep breath before his feet once again began to move.

He looked at each elegantly carved tombstone he passed. They were mostly made of carved granite or marble, but they were all some shade of gray. That observation symbolized such a poignant punctuation to life, Ross thought; that in the end, even though one may have led a life painted with vibrant colors, in death one existed only as some shade of gray— somewhere in between light and darkness, in between color and lack thereof. How could the woman who'd colored his entire world belong in a place like this? It just didn't fit.

He'd passed by the majority of the tombs and was only a couple feet away from the imposing oak when he stopped, knowing that he was nearby but uncertain as to exactly where she was supposed to be. He scanned the names on each stone a number of times, coming up empty handed at first. In truth, he'd probably subconsciously avoided it the first time around. On the second go, he found her name, emblazoned on a rectangular black marble headstone:

_Rachel Karen Green_

_Beloved daughter, sister, mother, friend_

_1969 – 2004_

Ross crouched down and stroked the smooth surface of the stone with his free hand. It was so quiet around that he could hear his skin dragging against it. He wasn't accustomed to being able to pick out such barely audible things living in a big city. He lowered himself onto the ground until he was sitting "Indian-style" with Emma still nestled on his shoulder. He hated saying goodbye this way. Her body wasn't even here, just a rock that commemorated her existence. But it was all he had, and she deserved anything he could give her now. He thought long and hard about what to say before opening his mouth. When he finally did, he spoke softly, trying to avoid waking his daughter.

"Hi Rachel. It's me, Ross. I'm sorry I didn't come to see you sooner, but it's been really hard trying to balance work and Emma and my feelings and I just…well you know I'm not exactly famous for doing things right the first time.

When I decided to come here, I tried to sit down and think of the perfect words. But then I realized something. When it comes to the matter of "us" I've spent way too much of the last seven years sitting down and thinking and I never said the right words then either. So I'm just gonna give honesty I try for once in my life, Rach. It's the least I can do for you—for us."

Suddenly, Emma started wriggling around in Ross's arms, roused by some unknown impetus. "Mommy!" she squealed, piercing the hallowed silence of the graveyard and startling her father. He chuckled at his own fright for a second while he considered his response to her outburst.

"Yes, that's right, we're talking to mommy," he said sweetly. He rubbed her back gently, trying to settle her back down so he could finish his farewell.

"Mommy! Mommy!" repeated the excited toddler. Ross held Emma up in front of him, looking at her little face perplexedly.

"What is it, sweetie?" he asked, trying to decipher his daughter's sudden outburst. As a seasoned parent, Ross knew that trying to get to the bottom of these cryptic requests could be a tedious part of the whole deal. He also bitterly conceded to the fact that these outbursts for 'mommy' would be a painful part of daily life until Emma was old enough to understand where her mother really was.

"Mommy!" said Emma yet again, this time pointing a little finger in Ross's direction. He looked down at his sweater for a second before realizing that she wasn't pointing at him. She was focused on something else altogether, something behind him. He was about to turn around and investigate when he felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder.


	17. Starting Over?

Author: Patrick

Story: She Didn't Get Off the Plane

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 17**

There are some things in life we can never be truly ready for, moments that reach deeper inside us than anything else ever has and make us feel emotions we never knew existed. Ask any new parent how it felt to hold their newborn baby for the first time. Ask any mourning parent who has just watched their child's body be lowered into the ground. Ask any soldier who has returned home safely from a battle; ask the families of those who did not. These moments are relatively scarce (God willing), but they are truly pivotal. They shape our lives for the decades to come. They change our whole belief system; what we thought was important in life is suddenly meaningless and all that we took for granted comes crashing down. And in the ashes, we are born anew, our minds and hearts shaped by these moments that will forever brighten our days or haunt our nights. They are with us always.

They are our lives.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ross was irritated by the sudden presence of the hand accosting his shoulder at first, taking it to be a nosy groundskeeper or perhaps a wayward mourner trying to find a soul to share his or her overwhelming load of grief. Ross was already on edge among other things and this intrusion only fueled his exasperation. Did it not make sense that in a place where souls are supposed to be at peace that those who came to visit should be given the same courtesy? His conceptions changed, however, when his daughter's hand was magnetically wrenched towards the one on his shoulder, as if the action was instinctual. It was then that he whirled around; concerned not only with protecting his daughter from any potential wrong-doers, but with the fact that something greater suddenly seemed to be at stake. This feeling that had so quickly pierced Ross's defenses and settled into the core of his soul suggested that the impending moment would be unequivocally more important than anything he'd been through in the last few weeks.

Or perhaps in the last 35 years.

Ross stumbled to his feet cradling Emma securely and turned 180 degrees. When he saw the unmistakable visage before him he immediately blanched and was sent reeling backwards in shock, stumbling over Rachel's headstone and nearly losing his footing in the process. Emma squealed and giggled in excitement during all of this, taking it to be one of her father's games where he'd twirl her about in the air. This was anything but. Ross blinked several times and rubbed his eyes briefly with his free hand, trying to convince himself that the apparition he'd just seen was nothing more than a concoction of his grief-stricken mind. But when his vision came into focus, she was still there.

_Rachel._

It was quite a different Rachel than the last one he'd seen when he tried to convince her to stay at Newark Airport. Her figure was noticeably thinner; the subtle protrusions from her clothes that marked the locations of clavicle and ribs were considerably more apparent than normal. Her skin was tanner as well and yet exhibited only a marginal portion the glow that it typically possessed. A wound cloth bandage on her head signified the trauma that had been inflicted there. She looked ghastly, and Ross spent a moment considering if it were possible that he was looking at a specter. But the face before him told a different story, one that he'd memorized years ago and could recite in his sleep if need be. There was a certain ethereal vivacity to her facial features that was so inherently Rachel and so unmistakably alive that it made Ross's doubts began to dissipate before he was even consciously aware of it. Her bottom lip was trembling, and her mouth looked to be stuck somewhere between a smile and a sob, but the muted voice within spoke in a tongue that was clearly discernable to those that knew Rachel best. Her eyes, wherein the same message was profoundly restated, were rife with signs of fatigue and yet glowed with an intense fervor that Ross had never beheld in all the years he'd known her. The message was short and simple by its verbal nomenclature but more extensive and meaningful intrinsically than all the words uttered in a day, a week, a month, or in some cases, a lifetime: She was alive.

The tension hung like a diaphanous curtain between the two, who were both now caught in a strange sort of stalemate, each one probing the other for some sort of sign that it was okay to make the next move. Ross decided that he should be the one to make the move. However it had happened, Rachel had obviously come a long way to be standing in front of him right now, if it wasn't some kind of dream, and the least he could do was return the favor by closing the last few steps. He took two steps towards her so that they were standing only a couple feet apart. She seemed greatly affected by even this diminutive action and begun to fidget with her hands and her eyes began to well up, clearly wanting to react in some way but seeming totally perplexed as to how. Her eyes kept darting from Ross's face to Emma's and Ross quickly noted it. He suddenly realized the immense weight this situation must've been putting on the woman before him. The three shared a common bond: Father, mother, and daughter. But the relationship between "mommy" and "daddy" was so far beyond the simple nuclear relationship transparently implied by their titles. As much as he wanted to run into her arms and kiss her deeply and tell her everything that'd been on his mind since he thought she'd died and his life got twisted around, he knew that it would be totally unfair to let all those expectations come crashing down on her at such a fragile moment. If the inexplicable had really happened and she was really back, then he had to be fair and he had to do this right. The bond between Rachel and Emma was pure and innocent and simple. The one with Ross was often times anything but.

"Rachel," he whispered, the word as much a question as it was an affirmation, an attempt to confirm something he already knew in his mind but was afraid to allow his heart to believe. The words were stretched out and uneven in their short duration and thus made it apparent that even this exchange had taken his breath away.

She bit her lip for a moment before she responded. When she did, it was with a teary nod at first.

"Yes," she croaked. The small word, so seemingly innocuous, was everything Ross had been waiting to hear. To him, she had not just declared her life with the word, but his too. After these last couple weeks in the dark, there was finally a light at the end of the tunnel. And that light was the same one that lighted every dark corridor in his life: Rachel Karen Green.

"Do you want Mommy to hold you Emma?" Ross asked his little daughter, who had started to grow impatient and wiggled around a little in her father's arms.

"Okay!" exclaimed the toddler, obviously very pleased with her daddy's suggestion. Ross took a step and closed the remaining distance. He smiled at Rachel's face and arched an inquiring eyebrow to which she nodded slightly, confirming that she was ready.

"Mommy! Hugs!" Emma squealed as her little arms stretched towards her mother's frame. At her daughter's command, Rachel opened her arms and, in a moment of true, unadulterated, unparalleled bliss, mother and daughter were reunited.

The moment was surreal; Emma would probably forget it in a few years but Rachel would remember it every day for the rest of her life. She held her daughter gently but securely, taking in every single sensation— the way she smelled, the way the child felt resting on her chest, the clothes Emma was wearing, how her hair looked and felt— everything. She tried to stifle her sobs as not to alarm her daughter, but generally failed. Ross, temporarily reduced to the role spectator (which he undertook with great understanding) had already begun to break down a little himself, but did so shamelessly, letting a few tears run down his cheeks before wiping them away.

The embrace lasted several moments before Rachel raised her head from Emma's shoulder and looked at Ross again, tears and all. For some reason he felt a little silly having been caught crying and laughed in spite of himself to which she responded with a knowing smile. She reached her hand out towards him. He contemplated for a second, and then took it. When their hands touched it was electric, so much so that they had to ease into it before being able to tolerate the overwhelming joy that came from it. Both secretly longed for more but also knew that, despite all the uncertainty to come in the days ahead, their time would come soon.

"Take me home, Ross," Rachel requested. There was something about the way she said the word 'home' that gave Ross renewed hope for them, as if she'd premeditated it to mean more than just an apartment. Normally he'd think she meant Joey's, but there was something clearly written between the lines that dismissed that notion before it even came into question. He put his arm around her and guided her towards the cemetery's gate.

As they walked back towards the car, Ross found himself wondering about lot of things. He wondered if she was back for good, or was this just a brief fantasy before the next flight to Paris. He wondered how she'd survived the wreck and wondered what forces had made her return possible. He wondered if her return meant there was another chance for them to be together. He'd noticed the bandage on her head and her frail appearance and wondered if she was okay. He knew that many of these questions not only could wait but had to wait. The details of the crash would inevitably come up once they got a chance to put Emma down for a while and talk. The other questions about "them" would probably answer themselves, he figured, if he was patient and listened clearly enough. So he omitted them all for now, save one.

"I'm okay, Ross" Rachel said. It was quiet for a moment as Rachel's lips formed a smile, the joy behind which was known only to herself at that moment.

"I'm going to be just fine."

And, for once in her life, she really believed it. Something in that statement seemed to be an admission that she hadn't exactly intended, but didn't regret making in the least. She looked up at Ross, who smiled back at her, seemingly on the verge of understanding exactly what she'd meant. He suddenly stopped when they got to the gate.

"Did you take a cab here?" Ross asked. There was a sense of guilt in his voice that revealed that he feared she indeed had, before she'd even formulated an answer.

"No," she said, laughing a little as if she found the idea totally absurd. Given the length of the cab ride that would've been required, it actually kind of was. "Monica and Chandler drove me. When we saw Carol's car, we assumed it meant that you were here so they left." Ross nodded blankly, accepting this explanation. In truth he felt bad that the three had gone through all the trouble to find him.

"I hope you're planning on giving me a ride home, by the way," Rachel added, grinning flirtatiously at him. Ross made a pensive face, pretending to be contemplating his answer. He pulled her closer to him and she giggled a little, not worried about the consequences but rather enjoying the closeness she'd been longing for. They walked the remaining distance arm in arm, talking to each other and Emma, enjoying being a family again. When they got to the car, Ross put Emma in the car seat and then emerged.

"Now that both your arms are free," he said suggestively, extending his arms to her. She threw her arms around him and buried her f ace in his chest without the slightest pause. They reveled in the joy that they'd both feared was lost. The tears flowed again from both sides, both reaching the full awareness in the arms of one another of what they'd almost lost, and what fate had obviously been trying to tell them to hold on to.

"I need to tell you something Ross," Rachel intoned into his chest. She pulled away just enough so that she could look directly into his eyes. She did not have to barter for his full attention; it was hers immediately. "That stuff you said to me at the airport before I got on the plane, I just want to say—."

Ross interrupted her before she could finish. "Rachel, it's okay," he apologized, dejectedly, "I had no right to spring all of that on you—"

It was Rachel's turn to interrupt.

"I love you too, Ross."

Silence. Slowly, the awkward haze lifted and the smile began to work its way back onto Ross's face. He pulled her back into his arms and held her for another minute before pulling back, his expression blank this time.

"So what does this mean?" he questioned. Rachel was almost touched by the fact that he seemed hesitant to accept her words for their full meaning, as if he was protecting her and them from the pain that had arisen from so many past failures. Rachel shrugged.

"It means we love each other. We've got time to figure out the rest." Ross silently nodded in agreement. He didn't know if they were picking up from where they "left off" or if they were simply starting over. In either case, this was certainly a new beginning. As he reached for her door handle, he couldn't help but to worry a little. Even if it wasn't to death, losing Rachel again might be more than he could handle.

"Are you sure?" he asked sincerely. And she genuinely thought about it for a moment; not just to humor his concern but because she knew she owed to herself. It only took an instant, however. She'd had plenty of time to think about all this. There was a lot of sordid history to deal with, a lot of ghosts and demons that had haunted them and tried to destroy them. And somehow, when the smoke cleared, it was still Ross and Rachel, or Rachel and Ross, or however you wanted to juxtapose their names; it just made sense. Rachel knew it made sense to him too even though he was often too damn stubborn to admit it. Even as he asked the question, the disparity between the hesitance in his voice and the longing in his brown eyes was apparent. The contemplation was over nearly as soon as it began. Rachel smiled.

"Ross?" she asked. He raised his eyebrows to signal that he was listening.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and kiss me."

And he did.


End file.
